A Mess of Blues
by Original-Botticella
Summary: The events of DA:I fallowing a certain Inquisitor and Commander. f!mage!inquisitor!trevelyanXcullen. Full summary inside. Warning: ages 18 (This is a 'M' rated story after all)
1. Story Summary and Warnings

**TITLE:** A Mess of Blues

**SUMMARY:** The events of DA:I fallowing a certain Inquisitor and Commander. Katja is a smart-ass, witty (apostate?) mage. When not using her super mage abilities she dual-wields (b/c that is totally fun). And she hates being called by the H-word or the I-word. Escaping the Ostwick Circle at the tender age of 9. Fleeing to the Hinderlands where she remained for eighteen years in her solitude before going to the Conclave. Leaving behind her Trevelyan family; believing of their betrayal and indifference to her. Being taught to control her mage abilities from a lion spirit named Havardr. An old and wise one - protecting and teaching her. Even from herself.

Both suffer from past hurts and doomed fates. Fighting through unrequited dreams. Katja begrudgingly offering her services with the Anchor, not realizing her destined fate that she is soon fighting against. Will she accept the consequences or will, once again, be driven into madness? After all, fighting a crazed old-world magister covered in red lyrium would make anyone question their sanity.

**WARNINGS:** Rated **M** (aka **NC17** or **R**) for swearing, repressed memories, lyrium withdrawals, angst, violence, childhood trauma, nudity, and sexual situations. Lots of in-game spoilers‼ I have played and beaten DA:I, so I borrow from the dialogue, but I will chop and slash it for story sake. I'll mostly try to go through the behind-the-scenes with more detail than what is available per-cannon.

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**

I make no money from this. All rights belong to Bioware. This is purely for entertainment purposes of my livid imagination.

**FYI:** I'm not the most dependable writer. I go through spurts of inspiration. However, I'm really into this story that I see blossoming, so with some creative discipline I hope to complete this story. With some impromptu kicking, screaming, and cursing it along the way.

Don't forget to fav/fallow and/or review! I _always_ appreciate feedback!


	2. All Shook Up

Chapter 1: All Shook Up

Long winded whispers coaxed her ears. Small shivers tingling into her brain. Small, fragmented lights speckled throughout the landscape. It was one that she was very familiar with - the Fade. The fragmented lights solidified into a teaming plain. Bright blue sky and dry, yellow grass, and knobby trees with sharp orange leaves. She was familiar with this part of the Fade.

Was she dreaming? She remembered The Temple of Sacred Ashes, and then - she was running - from what? - a woman shrouded in gold light - being pushed outward - then... Oh no. Why couldn't she remember?

The speckles of light gathered together to transmute into the body of a lion. It was the size of horse with bright gold fur; plates of armor – dented throughout various battles – covered it's front paws, head, and body; his bright sun yellow eyes beamed wariness into her thoughts.

Relief flooded into herself at seeing a familiar spirit that has guided her through the years. "Havardr, what happened?"

"I know not. I large rift stands here and your world. Harmful spirits are pouring out and hurting you mortals. Look at your hand!" His exclamation made her jerk her eyes to hear hands, her left was glowing a bright green.

Without warning a burst of energy shocked through her system setting her nerves on fire. "What is this Havardr!?"

The Fade slowly started to dim - a precursor to her becoming awake. "You must seal it Katja!" Havardr's ethereal voice becoming faint, "The glass is breaking!" With another painful shock from the glowing scar on her hand, she was suddenly jolted awake.

Her red eyes flew open. Katja was completely covered in sweat - her clothes sticking to her skin.

Katja's body jolted into alertness. Dim lighting. Circle of soldiers. Weapons. Stone. Cold.

Her hands were bound.

No escape.

The soldiers skittered with their weapons pointing at her, leaving a small radius of extra sharp spears to gut her if necessary. She breathed deeply to calm herself. One wrong move with a room full of twitchy guards and she'll be pole-vaulted like a fish. She kneeled cautiously and slowly in the center of said twitchy guards with sharp spears.

No sudden fucking movements.

A guard suddenly left when nothing happened.

Another wave of pain flashed a bright green. She cried out in agony. Panic flooded into her being. It was then that the door that would be her escape busted open filling the dark room with light and the silhouettes of two people.

The door closed just as quickly and a foreboding since of dread that she had not felt for years crept into her consciousness.

The two women – one in a mail robe with reddish hair and the other with short black hair and full armor – circled her like two dogs waiting for a kill.

The one with black hair spoke first, fury in her voice, "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you know. The Conclave is destroyed everyone is _dead_!"

Katja unable to form words was rendered speechless.

Out of pure anger, the black-haired woman grabbed her left arm with the green mark – none too gently – and held it up to her face, "Explain this!"

As to emphasize the point the mark sparked, sending a small amount of pain into her arm.

Katja crunched her eyes from the pain but managed to croak out in a small voice, "I can't"

The woman was not happy with her answer, "What do you mean you _can't_?" she shoved her blasted hand back at Katja.

The red-head pulled the raven woman back, "We need her Cassandra!"

Trying to think of anything, she remembered her fuzzy memories before she passed out, "I don't know how it got there! I was being chased by – things – I ran into a woman who reached out to me – I don't know who – and then I was here."

That got the attention of the red-headed woman, "A woman you said?"

The raven haired woman – Cassandra – brought her attention to the red-haired woman, "Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will meet you there with the prisoner."

A questioning knowing look passed through – Leliana's – eyes. She knotted and departed the cell.

Cassandra pulled out a key and knelt beside Katja, undoing her metal bonds and replacing them with rope. Well who needs an upgrade right?

"What _did_ happen?"

She sighed heavily like a great burden was n her shoulders, "It would be better to show you."

She lifted her up with ease and pushed her outside, the guard at the door opening it. It was then that Katja saw it.

The sky had a huge gaping fucking hole in it.

Andraste's sweet teats!

It was a similar green as her mark and spouting energy throughout the landscape. It was then she felt safe enough to expand her connection – the Veil was damn thin. She could feel the demons that poured out from it. She had never felt it so heavy with the Fade other than her dreams.

This is bad. _Very_ bad.

"They call it the Breach. A massive rift into the world of demons."

No shit it was!

A strong pulse spouted from the Breach in time to when her mark shot pain throughout her nerves. She went back down on her knees in pain, trying to collect herself.

Breath Kat, breath.

Cassandra went to her side and said desperately, "Each time the Breach expands your mark spreads and it is killing you. It may be the key to closing the Breach."

"I'll do it."

She raised her brows surprised.

"Whatever you need me to do, I'll try. I sure as shit ain't sitting around while a fucking hole swallows the world. Even if you and everyone in Thedas thinks I'm guilty." Her red eyes blazed in determination.

The brusque woman had no words, only nodding in approval. She helped Katja to her feet – only a little more gently. She kept her hand on her arm and pulled her close. At first she was puzzled until she saw the huge crowed of shouting people. Cursing her. Calling her a murderer. Guards were posted to keep them at bay. The gate out opened as they exited the town. Once they were outside the woman pulled out a dagger and cut her bonds.

"There will be a trial, I can promise no more. The people mourn the most holy Divine Justinia, who died at the Conclave – they will lash out at you."

Katja rubbed the welts away on her writs, understanding her dire predicament and asked, "Where are you taking me?"

"To the forward camp, where we will decided what to do. But first we will test your mark on something smaller than the Breach."

They both fallowed the proscribed path to the camp. The soldiers looking more weary than the last. She could feel them shooting daggers at her as they passed. Twice on her way she had a stabbing pain in her palm. Each time she had to fight to get back on her feet. And a certain mabari heaving her up.

When they were crossing a bridge, a ball of energy blasted the bridge. With them in the middle. Sending them falling into the frozen lake.

A steady stream of curses flew from Katja's mouth as she landed hard on the thick ice. Black spots entered her vision on impact. She could taste copper in her mouth. With a loud groan she tried to sit up, her balance nearly shot along with her hearing.

Cassandra was back on her feet in a warriors stance, and Katja could see why.

Where the ball of energy impacted, demons came out.

_Oh shit!_

Without reservation the warrior woman lunged at the demons while shouting, "Stay back!"

What she didn't see was in the spot she vacated, a black mass formed. A demon sprouting from the area.

Quickly looking and getting on her feet, she looked for a weapon to defend herself.

Nothing. Not even a damn stick!

She pulled on her mana and made an twin ethereal daggers. The energy flowing in and around her hands. Running on instinct she fought the demon in front of her. Slashing and dodging until it succumbed. On her high, she raced to Cassandra's side and help to slay the other demons.

She held her blade to her.

"Drop your weapons!" she commanded.

Knowing she wasn't in immediate danger from being demon food, she exclaimed, "Alright boss!" she released the spell and the blue tinged blades vanished.

The warrior sighed, "No. I cannot protect you." She sheathed her blade, "You need a weapon."

She turned away walking and Katja fallowed, "I should remember that you didn't run."

Katja smiled, "Well, I did say I would help however I can. And I technically don't need a piece of steel, but it would be beneficial when I can't use my mana."

She made a slight disgusted noise. Wrong answer?

The two women made their trek to the Temple. Fighting any demons along the way. Katja managed to secure a pair of daggers. Not the best but she would make use of them. No time for complaining.

The two found a rift and there were soldiers engaged with a hoard of demons. Both she and the warrior woman joined in. Not stopping until the last was dead.

A bald elf grasped her wrist and shouted, "Quickly before more come!" and with a flash of green light from her scared palm the rift closed. No more rift.

It sent on odd tingle through her arm, but no more.

"Good the rift is gone. You've closed it." Said the elf.

Is that what it was?

"Good to know this thing can be of some use."

"Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark on your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake – and it seems I was correct."

Relief washed over Cassandra's face, "Meaning it could close the Breach itself."

"Possibly."

Well ain't this something. Katja may have earn a small respite at that!

"Good to know! Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demon's forever!" a stout dwarf with brown-orange hair exasperated. He came up to Katja with introductions in tow, "Varric Tethras: Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong." He winked at Cassandra.

From Katja's short experience, the look on Cassandra's face was lethal.

Distraction! "That's a nice crossbow you have!"

The dwarf's face beamed, "Bianca? Yeah, me and her go a long way back. You'll need me and her when we head into the valley with Chuckles here." He pointed to the elf.

Chuckles? Hopefully that's not his name of the bald elf before her. Nick-name perhaps?

"Absolutely not!" Cassandra interjected while making a discouraged noise, "Your help is appreciated but we don't need –"

"Have you been in the valley Seeker? Your men aren't in control anymore you need me." He gave her a sly look.

Seeker? As in the Seekers of Truth?! More shit on her lap.

She made a disgusted noise and stomped away.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live."

Well, good, it isn't 'Chuckles' after all.

"Ah live?"

"He means, 'he kept that mark from killing you while you slept.'" Varric point-blank put.

"Oh."

From their Solas explained how he came to be within the party. Some of what he explained sounded familiar to her own travels. Being an apostate. Fade travels. Yeah, familiar alright.

Welcome aboard!

From there he explained how he doubted any mage (including herself) could possess any such power to create the Breach. Cassandra nodded, respecting his words.

"I'm Katja. Prisoner isn't actually my name."

"I'd hope not!"

They continued onward.

This is where she knew, despite being held prisoner and being shook upside down that this was really going to be a shitty day for her.

After fighting a small band of demons on top of a frozen lake, she slipped on a weak spot in the ice, fell backwards and her whole, lumpy head went into the freezing water.

Her body went into shock from the icy water.

She pushed herself up, coughing and spitting out the ice water that she accidentally drank.

After a few moments of hysterical coughing on the shore and freighting from her compatriots some heart-felt intelligence seeped into her frozen brain.

"What's that coming out of your hair?" Varric stated.

It took a moment for her to realize what he was talking about.

The dye she put in her hair was dripping off. Slowly reveling the whiteness underneath.

"Ass fuck! This is the _worst_ day of my life!"

* * *

><p>With minimal difficulty they managed to reach the forward camp where Leliana was having a heated argument with a 'glorified clerk' in Cassandra's terms. Grand Chancellor Roderick.<p>

Nice.

Nothing like meeting her first Chantry member of note wearing a thick scarf (thank you Varric) around her head that was seeping out her wet, brown dye. That same dye that was smearing her face and staining the shoulders of her clothes.

She looked real appealing then. Extremely sexy.

Both Leliana and Cassandra managed to shoot him down. On both her prisoner status and retreat status, preferring to defer to Katja.

They could either go up the mountain pass or take soldiers through the trail directly to the Temple.

Er, why?

The mark! Right. And they must keep her alive.

Even though the mountain pass was safer, she wanted to get the whole ordeal over with.

The more direct way it is!

We made it to the Temple, the earth scorched from the explosion, bodies turned to hard ash – still as the moment of their death. The masonry burned black and scattered, few structures stood where walls, arches stood proud – now it was reduced to rubble. Leaving only the imagination as to what the Temple looked like pre-explosion of death and destruction.

The sounds of a loud and rigorous battle stood at the top of the staircase, the ominous glow of a rift at the top. Her hand glowed in readiness.

Defiantly a rift.

Katja ran toward the danger, knowing that the lives of soldiers were counting on her. It was her decision to bring them head long into the temple. She wanted to get through this as quickly as possible. Her possible execution was emanate in the future, but let it not be said that she didn't try to right a wrong.

A large throng of soldiers were engaged in a bloody battle from the demons pouring from the rift.

Time to close the bitch up!

Her and her ragtag compatriots joined in the throes of the battle. Lending a reprieve to the tired soldiers. Once the last demon was vanquished, Katja raised her hand to close the rift. Disengaging any further chance of demons coming out.

"Lady Cassandra you've managed to close the rift well done!"

A man with wavy, blond hair, sturdy bronze eyes, wearing ornate plate armor and a maroon cloak trimmed with black fur at the neck, and covered in demon blood addressed their group.

Templar.

He wasn't wearing the regalia of one, but the demeanor, the way he held his shield and sword, and the strong pull of the Veil – spoke volumes.

_Templar._

Panic seized Katja and flashes of old scars flaring up. It took all her strength not to run the opposite direction. Old voices ringing in her mind faintly.

_'Be good to me Kitty. I want to be good to you.'_

"Don't thank me Commander, this is the prisoner's doing."

"I hope what they say about you is true."

The templar's bronze eyes turned his attention to her. She really wanted to run at that point.

She snapped out of her trance when he spoke to her. _Shit!_ "I hope to be of some help." She rushed out. Wanting him to _go away. Get out._

He nodded, satisfied, "I hope so." He turned his attention back to Cassandra, "I'll take the rest of the men back to the camp. The way is clear ahead Cassandra. Leliana should be at the Breach shortly."

"Good. Pray we'll see you soon. Maker watch over you."

He nodded and dismissed himself. Katja didn't take her eyes off of him until he was out of eye sight.

They made it to the heart of the Temple. The rift was huge! And high up. Leliana made it to them unscathed fortunately.

Solas explained that if they closed the rift they could possibly stabilize the Breach. As they made their way down voices bled from the rift.

_"Bring forth the sacrifice."_

"The Fade bleeds here. It is merely an echo of what happened. That must be who created the Breach." Said Solas.

And the red lyrium. Serious shit. Even with Varric's input she sure as hell wasn't gonna touch it.

_"Someone help me!"_

"That's Divine Justinia's voice!" Cassandra exclaimed.

They were on their last steps down when they heard, _"What's going on here?!"_

That's when the vision of pre-explosion came to life.

Katja saw herself entering the room, where the Divine was magically bound and a smoky, shadow with red eyes stood next to her.

_"You must get out! Warn them!"_

_"There is an intruder." _Said the dark, smoke figure,_ "Kill her now!" _the figure pointed and the vision faded.

Well, that's explained a little. Though not much. Cassandra didn't take it well. She was shaking Katja for answers she didn't have. With their brief exchange, Solas examined the Rift. She would have to open the rift in order to close it properly. Luckily stop the Breach from spreading. Demons would pour out of the large Rift, the soldiers that were their stood ready.

With trepidation, she opened the Rift.


	3. Condemnation

Chapter 2: Condemnation

The effect of her opening the Rift was instantaneous.

Not only did Shades pour out by the buckets but a powerful Pride Demon crawled its way out. She hacked and slashed and used whatever magic she could to weaken the Pride Demon and residing Shades. Many of the soldiers had fallen by then. None of her compatriots had fallen by then. Owing to their experience.

That was when she heard a roar through the rift.

In that second, in a flash of light, a golden lion with armor appeared.

Katja raised her voice in glee, "Havardr‼"

The majestic lion spirit had a twinkle in its glowing, yellow eyes.

"Did you think that I wouldn't be here to aid you Katja?" he purred at her.

She laughed through her battle-high and jumped onto his armored back.

She didn't bother to look on her compatriots surprised expressions as both she and Havardr attacked the Pride Demon. Him with tooth and claw and she with her spirit sword and bow. After the band's initial surprise did they join in the throng to bring down the Demon.

The Demon went down on one knee in fatigue and that was when Havardr leapt onto it, jaws secure around the demon's throat. In one violent action, crushed and snapped it's neck.

He roared in victory that shook the earth with her shouting with him, her ethereal sword raised.

She climbed down from her perch on his back.

With silent acknowledgement, he leapt into the Rift. Once he was gone did Katja raise her hand and the power flowed out from her mark. The moment painful, much more than the smaller rifts she closed. It felt as though her whole being was being sucked into the Rift.

Black spots dotted her vision as it dragged on. She went to one knee, from both the pain and fatigue. She vaguely heard voices but she was unable to discern what they were saying.

In a sudden movement, the Rift closed and so did her awareness.

* * *

><p>The earth shattered and shook from the force of the explosion. Sickly green light popped and whirled from the Breach. The light that emanated from the Rift ceased. The Rift was closed.<p>

The Commander sighed in relief. One part of the problem was solved.

All around him – soldiers, refugees, the injured – saw the closing and raised their voices high in joy. One battle was won. But from experience, the Commander knew that whatever war this was, it was far from over. There was much to do.

For now, he was more concerned about treating his injured soldiers and vanquishing any estranged demons – while fighting off a headache that sent pulses through his skull. He paced around the forward camp purposefully, giving orders and receiving reports. Keeping his mind busy off unwanted territory.

It kept his thoughts away from the Prisoner.

Many unanswered questions were left in the Commander's mind about her.

His templar training at full front when he realized, in the heat of the battle, that she was a mage. The Veil-pull was strong whenever she casted a spell – he even briefly admitted to himself that the ethereal sword she forged was amazing. He only ever saw that display with Knight-Enchanters. Another question for another time.

A messenger begged his attention, "Commander! Lady Cassandra and her party are on their way. They were spotted not far from here."

"Good, open the gates immediately once they arrive."

He put a fist on his chest and was dismissed to fallow orders.

Moments later, he heard a commotion at the gate. He had to raise his voice over the crowd for him to pass through to Cassandra. What he saw put his heart on ice.

Cassandra was carrying the prisoner. Her face deathly pale and her lips almost blue. The green mark on her hand dim.

"Commander, we need horses immediately! We need to take her back to Haven so Solas can heal her." Cassandra rushed out; eyes darting, purposeful.

He didn't think, he reacted.

Shouting for the horses; running with the rest to the make-shift stables. Lady Cassandra took the two that was already saddled and practically leapt on one with the prisoner at the front. Solas and Varric on the other. With great speed, they rushed in a flurry of fallen, caked snow to Haven.

It wasn't until the next morning that he was able to get to Haven to get debriefed from Cassandra on what happened at the Temple.

What she told him put him on edge about the prisoner. Now, quite possibly the only person that could close the Breach was on death's door. Both Solas and the herbalist are doing what they can. They both agreed to pay a visit to see about her condition.

Outside there was a large crowd of people. Some whispering to each other about the person inside the hut-house. Through the crowd he was able to hear 'The Herald of Andraste is in there'. He mentally filed that in.

Inside the small hut-house, it was blazing warm from the hearth. Solas was hunched over her casting small spells on her injuries and the herbalist was making a potion.

She was bundled from the thick blankets from the bed. Her breathing ragged. From his memory of yesterday on the former-templar's mind – she had regained some color though not much, and there were dark circles around her eyes and her lips still pale. The brownness from her hair was gone, leaving a snow white color that hung limply from her head.

She looked like hell.

The elf noticed them and once he was finished with his spell did he approach them.

"How does Katja fair Solas?" she inquired quietly.

The Commander filed in the prisoner's name. Katja.

"Badly. She has regained only a tiny portion of her spirit and what is left is dim. That small spirit that is left is fighting furiously. Not only that, but the massive exertion from closing the Rift has caused physical wounds. We've managed to heal the most severe."

The Commander noticed the weariness on the elf's demeanor. He highly doubted that in the last day he got little respite – fearing the worst.

"But that is small in comparison to my larger concern."

"Which is?"

"Her mental wards against possession are gone."

Both the Commander's and Seeker's alarm bells were ringing. Old, templar training regimens repeating in Cullen's head.

"The necessary energy and concentration to maintain those have been poured into sustaining her life energy. I've tried a roundabout way to erect wards to protect her in her weakened state – but that has proved fruitless. Each time her spirit flares and attacks."

Both warrior's faces grew grim at the news.

"Is there anything at all you can think of that would help?" Cullen asked. "The last thing that needs to happen is for our only chance of closing the Breach it to be possessed."

"Agreed Commander. It is possible that she is residing within the Fade until she regains her strength to awaken. It is risky on her part, for she is weak enough to be possessed easily – without consent."

"Why would she choose to go to the Fade? Wouldn't she be at greater risk there?"

"Yes Cassandra, but I have a theory as to why. Remember that spirit that came through the Rift to assist us?"

The Seeker nodded.

"I gather from their reactions to each other that she is very familiar with this particular spirit. And that this spirit is protecting her in the Fade. What better way to be protected from possession than _by_ a spirit? You saw how easy it killed the Pride Demon Cassandra.

"I will go into the Fade and try to locate her." The elf volunteered, "However, I need you two to stand guard should the worst happen. Terran will monitor."

The stern, middle-aged herbalist stood with the potion that he was concocting, nodding his consent.

"I hope this works Solas. For her sake and ours." The Seeker tiredly stated.

All of them hoping that what Solas described was the case.

The Commander was weary of the elf's plan. He would admit that he didn't know that much about spirits in comparison to the elf. From his understanding and Cassandra's trust. Though he prayed that was the case. That the spirit as Solas described and Cassandra witnessed was indeed protecting the former prisoner.

_Katja, her name is Katja._

The elf took his place on the chair he was sitting at earlier and closed his eyes.

Both warrior's found perspective places to stand guard. Ready for any change – either for good or ill. The herbalist took a chair next to Solas and waited.

For a good while they waited.

Cullen went back to his old regimes when he used to watch mages during the grave-yard shift back in the Order. Playing chest in his head. He stiffened lightly and held the hilt of his sword when a headache wave came up suddenly. His chest game falling apart. Forgetting what moves he made, he mentally re-read reports that were given to him earlier.

The elf's face contorted to one of pain. All of them rapt at attention. Just as sudden as his face contorted did it fade back into calmness.

They continued their waiting game. Every once in a while the herbalist would check them and deeming them fine or would drip some water into Katja's mouth, then, would go back to his chair.

In the middle of the waiting session, Varric decided to pay a visit.

The dwarf's mood was grim and asked what was going on. In brief, informative sentences Cassandra filled him in. He too, took a spot to wait for the elf to awaken with either good news or bad.

Cullen remembered the dwarf. He was at Kirkwall with the Champion. Though, he admittedly knew little of him.

It wasn't until the room started to dim into a golden hue from the setting sun that the elf awoken from his dreams.

He took a deep breath, relief in his voice, "We can breathe easier now. It was as I suspected."

The tension in the room broke.

"Then that spirit is protecting her?" asked Cassandra.

"Yes, and the spirit's name is Havardr. We won't need to worry about her being possessed. There was already a pile of dead demons that have already tried." respite and weariness in the elf's voice.

"That's a relief then." Said Varric in a more upbeat tone.

"Yes, considering that I was almost made tranquil when I tried to approach. She managed to halt the spirit when she recognized me." Solas said banefully.

"That… explains why your body tensed in pain earlier." The Seeker stated.

"Yes, it was … quite the experience. She said, in colorful terms, that she's sorry for making everyone worry and that once her strength returns she will awaken."

The dwarf got up from his chair, "Well Chuckles, when Kitten does wake up she might find she had shouldered more responsibilities than she is resigning to deal with."

The elf furrowed his brows in question.

The former-templar sighed, "There is a large crowd of people right outside this door. They are calling her the 'Herald of Andraste'."

Shock went through the elf's face as he gasped, "Oh."

* * *

><p>Warmth, blessed warmth and comfort. Ease and tranquility.<p>

Also a burning, ravenous hunger.

Her stomach growled fiercely; protesting it's emptiness.

Katja raised her eyes lazily. She felt like she had been run over by a Druffalo – several – multiple times. But, she did promise to awaken once her strength returned to her. It had and she was glad for it. For several days, she guessed, she spent in the Fade with a worrying lion spirit. It would have been more appropriate if he was in the form of a giant hen instead. She loved Harvardr, but he could be a worrier.

She tenderly stretched her limbs. Plying them out of soreness and disuse.

Someone opened the door and out of habit, she shot up to see who came in without knocking.

Katja's reflex scared the poor elf-girl into dropping the box she was carrying. Potions from the sound of the glass.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were awake!"

Katja focused her eyes and to steady her beating heart. She then came to a horrid realization.

_Who the fuck changed my clothes!? Who saw me naked?!_

She was dressed in a supple leather tunic and breeches trimmed with gold buckles.

She came out of her thoughts when the elf-girl went to the ground in a bow.

In a worried voice she spoke, "I am but a humble servant. I ask for your forgiveness and your blessing mistress! If you need anything, you just need to ask."

That freaked her out when she bowed. Why would she _bow_?!

"It's ah-uh fine. Is the Rift closed?" she tentatively asked.

"Yes mistress. The Rift closed thanks to you."

She sighed out, it was as Solas said it was. "What of the Breach?"

"The Breach remains, although it is calm for the moment mistress." The elf-girl rose from her spot on the floor, and made small steps to the door, "Lady Cassandra said that if you awaken to meet her in the Chantry. 'At once' she said." And she ran out the door, leaving Katja to herself.

Okay Katja was a little freaked. From waking up with the possibility that some pervert saw her naked. And that elf-girl's reaction to her.

She needed answers. Though she wouldn't get it from sitting in a bed. Even a comfortable, warm one.

Once she had risen, she stretched languidly. Her stomach growled. Upon closer inspection of the box the elf-girl dropped. It was some potions but also a small bowl of soup and a half a loaf of bread.

Oh _yes!_

That Cassandra can wait five minutes so she can scarf down some grub.

She ate the food merrily and set the box down on the desk opposite of her bed. Happy over having a full stomach she would gladly go and see what else is going on.

Eyeing the fur fennec cloak that hung from a hanger by the door, she dawned it and opened the door.

She nearly had a heart attack and wanted to melt into the snow clad ground.

Everyone in camp was looking at her. Their fists over their chests. Everyone – soldiers dawned in armor to peasants in cloth.

_Holy Andraste_ …

She slowly made her way through the path separating both sides of the crowd. Eyes glued to her in reverence. The same people that earlier was cursing her – and from the whispers she caught – was now admiring her. She pulled the cloak closer around her to protect her from the intrusive, worshiping eyes.

"That's her, the Herald of Andraste." One would say.

"Who knew Andraste herself would send a mage to save us?" another would say.

As the whispered praise continued she slowly began to walk faster to the Chantry until the main body of the crowd was behind her. Heat flooded her cheeks from the unwanted attention.

Dodging into the Chantry, she closed the doors to block out the eyes of the crowd.

She took a deep breath. Hands on the door to keep intruders out. The Chantry was blessedly quiet. Didn't even hear the murmured prayers of the faithful. The light a little dim to encourage contemplation of the parishioners. Two fully armored guards stood idly at the ends of the doors.

"You've seen the crowd?"

Skin nearly peeled off of her. Katja nearly twisted her head off to the sound of the voice.

It was Cassandra.

She groaned, "_Someone_ could have warned me about that." Beside her was the Grand Chancellor and the templar.

"It's not like you deserve there reverence." Sneered the Chancellor, "Guards! Seize her, I want her ready to be transported to Val Royeaux."

She rolled her eyes, she the two guards by the entrance of the Chantry. They didn't have a care to move.

"Disregard that soldiers. Leave us. No one is to enter until otherwise." Said the templar.

They fisted on their armored chests and went outside.

Both the templar and Seeker glared at the Chancellor.

He stomped off to the back of the Chantry.

The three of them fallowed suit. Katja keeping an extra eye on the templar.

"How is your mark?" Cassandra asked.

"Well," she supposed, "it's stopped spreading and I'm not in pain every five seconds."

The warrior woman nodded, "Good, take victories where you can."

They went into the back room of the Chantry where the wooden door was promptly closed by the templar. She saw that Leliana was waiting patiently and the Chancellor continued his death glares at her. Which she mentally bounced off.

"You are all treading dangerously." The Chancellor sneered.

Cassandra's voice pressed, "The Breach is still a threat. I will not ignore it."

Katja rolled her eyes. So it seems she is still a suspect to the Chantry, "So even after I almost _died_ I'm still a suspect to you?"

"You most certainly _are_."

"No, she is most certainly _not_." The templar exasperated. "Why would she go through the trouble of causing all this havoc if she died in the process? I saw her when she was in her coma – she was practically at death's door. And from Lady Cassandra's account, she didn't even hesitate to aid us in closing the Breach even when everyone thought her guilty."

Katja was surprised at the rigorousness of the templar's defense of her. She felt an odd mixture of alertness and placidness. It was irrational of her to have those mixed feelings, and she knew it was because she saw him as a templar. Even when those small bits of evidence points otherwise. Not all templars were like _them_.

Though, she would try to explore it at a later date.

Leliana stepped forward, "Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live."

That threw a loop into the Chancellor's brain, "_I_ am a suspect?!"

"You. And many others."

He pointed a condemning finger at Katja, "But _not_ the Prisoner?!"

"I heard the voices in the Temple. The Divine called out to her for help."

He shook his head in disbelief and crossed his arms, "So her survival, that _thing_ on her hand – all a coincidence?"

"Providence." The Seeker interjected, "The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour."

A little too deep in Katja's eyes, "Ah, I am a mage ya know. An apostate one to boot."

"I know that." She frowned at her response, "Despite that, or your beliefs, you were _what_ we needed _when_ we needed it."

Katja saw her go to the back of the room to grab something.

"Your mark is still our only hope of closing the Breach." Leliana concluded firmly.

"That is _not_ for you to decide!"

It was then that the Seeker emerged from the dark corner of the room and slammed a thick tome with the mark of the Seeker embossed on the cover on to the table.

"Do you know what this is Chancellor?" she pointed to the tome with up-most seriousness, "A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn."

The Chancellor's eyes widened at her proclamation.

The Seeker waved her hand authoritatively at him and told him in her most serious 'this is how it will be' voice, "We _will_ close the Breach, we _will_ find those responsible, and we _will_ restore order. With or without your approval."

The Chancellor, thoroughly chastened, left the room – slamming the door behind him.

"This is the Divine's directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos." There was no doubt in Leliana's demeanor of what the Divine wanted, but that task was daunting, "We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and no Chantry support."

"But we have no choice: we must act now. With you at our side."

_Ah, what come again? Me?_

"Ugh, what is the 'Inquisition of old'?"

She briefly explained that it was a group under a common banner predating the Chantry to keep order. It turned into the Templar Order but they have lost their way. A point that Katja agreed on.

"Is this a Holy War?"

That she could not say whether it was holy but it was defiantly a war. The war part she agreed on. Though, it did seem unlikely to her that it was even 'holy'.

Katja remembered her time in the Fade with Havardr.

He gave her cryptic messages about the goings-on in Thedas. That her niche in the world is about to change. She recognized it as fits of foresight that he was prone to. Though, in the past, they were small in comparison.

_"You stand on a precipice on a mountain Snow Kitten." His endearment ringing, "Multitudes of you clad in steel will stand with you as the sky burns. None of them as bright as you. The center of the fiery whirlwind is a shadow cloaked in red glass. With your scar pointed to the burning sky. Two choices you are given: Destroy or heal."_

She had a strange sense of compression as those words echoed in her mind.

The three of them were looking at her in trepidation – quietly holding their breaths.

Katja didn't like the attention. Though she felt on odd sense of what? Destiny? Divinity? She wasn't sure. She would hold off on the war-front, but that Breach thing was the forefront of her concerns. If she brought some semblance of peace to her home in the process? I'd be icing to the whole damn mess. Maybe getting rid of the mark on her hand along the way. Having a glowing body part would be troublesome when she would go out hunting.

"This is rather strange ya know."


	4. Crazy Train

Chapter 3: Crazy Train

It was boring. She was bored! It had been a few days since the Inquisition's decree of reinstatement. With Cassandra's boisterous voice demanding it. It was hard not to notice. There really hasn't been much for herself to do. She could go outside of her small hut-house. Unfortunately that would get her stares from the residents, recruits, and refugees. What she suspected was the amorous and worshiping kind.

No thank you.

Though she had tried.

She paid Varric a couple of visits (his stories were the best, even if they were total bullshit). Solas had some good mage advice and his stories about his Fade trips were interesting. She thought both the herbalist and blacksmith were gruffly adorable. Their simple, no-nonsense attitudes were refreshing to her. They would still say "Herald" or "Your Worship", but it more out of respect than idolarity.

So, much of her days she would sit on her small desk playing chest against herself. It was a poor substitute without a real opponent, but it was better than being told "There's a rift! Close it!"

The solace didn't bother her.

It was the fact that she would defiantly never be in charge. That her sole purpose with the Inquisition was to close rifts and eventually the Breach. Having a big hole that would obliterate you and everything else put her on edge. Along with waiting for the command that it was time to close said rifts and the Breach.

Thus, was making her twitchy.

She looked at herself at the small desk mirror.

Katja almost didn't recognize herself. She was used to her having brown hair and having it up in a braid. She had her tresses flowing down, off to one shoulder and the dye had came out during her excursion up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Thanks to her klutziness.

She almost forgot that her natural hair color was white. Katja didn't fathom why white of all colors. From her clear memories, she couldn't place a family member having white hair. Pale blondes perhaps, but not snow white.

_Who cares. They are a million miles away and they have forgotten me._

Her pale hair certainly gave golden hue to her tan skin and it brightened her reddish eyes.

Katja sighed dismissively, placed the mirror back in its original place and continued her game.

After five rookie moves she lost to herself. She sighed dejectfully and flicked the king on its side with a lazy finger.

There was a knock on her door.

Company!

"Enter." She called out a little too enthusiastically.

It was the little elf-girl after she woke up from her 'coma' after closing the huge Rift at the Temple. She was trying to have the girl open up a little. Having her skitter like a mouse was making her want to do the same. After a few run-ins she got a name out of her. Diliah. Her name is Diliah.

"Y-your Worship," she stuttered, "Lady Cassandra and the other Commanders have requested your presence in the war room in the Chantry."

She raised her brows, "Did they say why?"

Diliah appeared stricken, "No! No! They didn't Y-your Worship. I cry your pardon, for I didn't think to ask!"

"It's alright Diliah. I'll find out when I get there." Katja got up from her desk, and told her, "Thank you for bringing me the message, you can go."

She bobbed her head up and down appreciably, "Yes, yes thank you Your Worship!"

She briskly made her way towards the Chantry temple. Trying not to let the ogles and whispered praise get to her. Once she got inside the temple was she allowed to breath. There weren't many people worshiping so she was able to quietly make her way into the self proscribed 'war room' as she called it. Sounded better and more intimidating than 'where the big-wigs go to chat'.

Katja entered the room and closed the door.

Just as she thought, Cassandra, Leliana, the Templar/Commander (because she still hadn't caught is name), and a stranger in purple and gold clothes were around a huge ass map of Thedas. Metal pieces were placed in certain locations, mostly in Fereldan.

_Hurry up and tell me where the rifts are._ She thought to herself impatiently.

"Good you came in time. We were just discussing our next move. Before that, proper introductions are in order." Cassandra went around introducing those in the room and their titles.

Leliana, the Spymaster – which was tactfully put.

Cullen, the Commander of the Inquisition's Forces – simply because of his Templar training.

And, Josephine, Chief Diplomat and Ambassador – the Game extraordinaire.

Impressive.

"That's a heart-warming bunch of titles, but I have to ask: Why did you ask me to come Cassandra?"

"I'm more adapt to answer that," Leliana said, "We've received a letter from Mother Giselle asking for a meeting with you Herald."

Katja heard what the spymaster said but hearing a 'superior' call her Herald made her twitch a little.

She groaned – thought not unkindly – and stated, "If you would please call me something other than 'Herald'? 'Druffalo dung' would be a better replacement."

They all looked at her funny – or at least funny to her. If she was any good with facial expressions, it looked like they were having bowel troubles.

She sighed, defeated, "'Katja' is my name. Just, ya know, in case it isn't known." They were still looking at her funny, though a little less, "Anyway Leliana, you were saying about the Mother? Why would she want to meet me?"

The strange reverie of the group broke as Josephine interjected, "Well, the Chantry has decreed us heretics. More specifically you… Katja."

"In her invitation, she told us she will give us a list of Mother's names who would be more amiable to a meeting with you." Leliana responded, "It is my understanding that she is more of a reasonable sort, along with those who would be willing to have a meeting.

"She's currently in the Hinderlands assisting the wounded from the renewed war-efforts of the rebel mages and templars, theirs heavy fighting there." The spymaster reported.

The Commander snorted, "The real rebels are in Redcliffe seeking shelter and the templars have been given orders to head back to Val Royeaux. The ones left are deserters who don't care who gets caught between them. Both parties have washed their hands of them."

Katja sighed disgustedly, "Yet neither side is willing to pick up their leftovers. Even if it wound up on the floor."

Cassandra nodded, "It would be beneficial to the Inquisition's cause to stabilize the region. As much as I dislike it, to clean up those leftovers of both parties. And along the way, close any rifts."

"Most certainly," Josephine interjected, "it would help the blossoming reputation to quiet the war on that end. And it doesn't hurt that in the process we protect Mother Giselle. Heretics wouldn't protect a rival after all. Her knowledge would help us immensely when we try to appeal to the Chantry for support on closing the Breach."

Katja raised her eyebrow, "It just seems odd that a Mother would try to help us. We are being called Heretics."

"Well, Katja, you are the face of the Inquisition."

_Did I just hear that right?! Me!_

"Whoa there mistress spymaster! All I do is wave my hand and _poof! _no more rift!" and to drive the point home her mark sparked lightly, "See! It even is generous enough to agree! Oh, and did Cassandra mention that I am a mage? Yeah, good idea having the face of the Inquisition be a mage with Thedas being war-torn from two opposing groups!"

"It isn't that Katja. It's what the people believe." Cassandra interrupted, "when you came through the Rift, people saw a woman behind you – they believe that to be Andraste. That along with your ability to close the rifts and your extraordinary survival of the Temple. Well, you were what we needed when we needed it. They believe you are blessed. Which is why they called you 'Herald of Andraste'."

Josephine interjected, "Those that are fallowing see you as a sign of hope in these troubled times. Despite whatever maybe the contrary."

"Well whoever is spreading those rumors must be privy to details that I don't know. I certainly don't remember how I got this Maker-damn thing on me or survived the Temple explosion."

"Be that as it may, Katja, you are the one everyone is going to be looking at." The templar said, er, Cullen.

She had almost forgotten about him! In her stupor of all times! He was just, standing in the back, watching the whole spectacle! He must be watching her – gauging her – determining whether she is a threat. And the way he phrased that sentence – yes! he was watching her! Her paranoia rearing it's ugly head. Her rationality flying out of her mind.

_Remember that not all templars are like _them_ Katja?_

Katja unconsciously folded her arms and shifted her feet.

"Well, they can look elsewhere." She said dismissively at the thought of being held in esteem.

"Katja."

The way Cassandra said her name that – no-nonsense, put up or shut up – way. Had her realize that it was going to happen with or without her consent. The reverence, the esteem, the … _fuck!_

_FUCK!_ Fuck-Andraste-in-the-ass-and-cum-on-her-face! _No‼_

Whatever land this is, she wanted to be transported back to where shit made sense!

_I wanna go home! I want to be left alone! I want … not this shit!_

When she agreed to help them, she didn't expect _that_ out from them. She didn't think people would seek her out. Perhaps admire her abilities but never borderline idolize her. She really didn't get the whole 'Herald' title until then. People where looking at her as an earthly extension of Andraste and through Andraste the Maker.

She was considered Holy by those of the Inquisition. Perhaps no so much of those within the room, but outside the door… _damn_!

"Ugh… could we try to curb that? I'm not the most devout in the room." She requested meekly.

They all made varying degrees of faces. Katja hated not being able to read faces well. Cassandra knitted her brows toward Leliana and she tightened her lips. Cullen folded his arms and frowned. Josephine raised a brow and contorted her lips to one side.

_Could someone please tell me what they are thinking?_

This is the worst being outside the Fade. There you could project your thoughts and feelings without speaking, making facial expressions, or body language. It was the only way to communicate with a spirit accurately with depth. You could speak but the subtle points of conveying were lost with words. Here… she was as dumb as a runt nug without it. She could recognize some rudimentary gestures and faces. Other than that she hadn't been practicing that form of communication often. It wasn't necessary since she had little interaction with any other person.

That's where she would often get into trouble because of lack of vocal education. She didn't read underlying messages behind speech. Other than colorful swearing and witty remarks.

Perhaps she said the wrong line of words? Maybe throughout the whole conversation.

She understood that the Andrastian faith was important to others. Even when she didn't comprehend _why_. Katja spent her early childhood being indoctrinated with the faith, but after… Well, it fell out of favor in her eyes. It was reduced to stories. Some rather good to her but the level of devoutness escaped her.

Katja would try what she wanted to say again. This time, more plainly.

"It's not that I don't think the faith isn't important to others. I would have pictured their 'Herald' as someone with more," what's the right word?, "divinity. Besides wouldn't me being the forefront of the Inquisition make it more… difficult? The most I could offer is closing rifts and whatever martial or mage skills I have. I have no spiritual or divine wisdom that being a 'Herald' of anything would entail."

She really wished she could project her doubtful emotions. Her reluctance of leadership. She honestly didn't think she conveyed all she wanted to with her words. But, that was as plain as she could place it. With a little reasoning.

Their normal positions resumed from earlier.

Success maybe?

"The Inquisition is already at a tough spot," Josephine conveyed, "all we have at this point is our reputation. Exercising that reputation will gain us allies. You at the forefront won't make it as difficult as it already is. If you are seen closing rifts and helping others it will only strengthen the Inquisition."

"She's right," Leliana agreed, "you're the strongest thread to gaining allies that would help our cause. Even if your title is based on the faith."

"And since you are the only one who can close rifts and possibly the Breach, we need to know your opinion to do so successfully. Since it will be you at the forefront to do so." Added Cassandra.

The templar, Cullen, nodded, "You won't be alone in that endeavor. We will all be here when it is needed."

So… she just needs to be seen? They aren't asking her to be the main leader of a rag-tag band of misfits seeking order? That her being called 'Herald' was a by-product of her closing rifts and established faith? Katja can call for aid when she was sent out. It wasn't her lone solemn responsibility. They were working together to help the world.

She could handle that. Though being called 'Herald' in her presence needed to be replaced.

"Oh… I see." Was all she could say. Hoping that she understood what was expected of her. That she was also consenting in allowing to happen. She unconsciously relaxed her arms.

"Speaking of our reputation," Josephine brightened, "would you tell us your family name? It would help to legitimatize the Inquisition."

She folded her arms.

That… she was uncomfortable with. It's been… a long time since she thought about them. Deep, old hurts. She was uncertain how her family name would help legitimatize the Inquisition. It was just a name to her.

She dared to ask, "How could my family name help?"

"Even a modest family name could be beneficial. It would associate your family name with our own cause. And hopefully bring in an ally or two of your family." Josephine explained.

Family… the only family she could say would be Havardr. But she is speaking of her human family.

Whatever… it was just a name after all.

"Trevelyan. My family name is Trevelyan."

She did recognize the look on their faces: surprise.

"As in 'Katja _Ruthine_ Trevelyan'?"

Now it was her turn to be surprised, "Ah, yes. How do you know that Josephine?"

"My family trades with the Trevelyan's. They mentioned to me they had a daughter that… ah, went missing when she was a child and she was never found. You…"

_Lies_.

Katja looked at the floor – wanting to burn a hole into it. She felt her Veil-pull surge in her quiet scream. Any templar or mage within a mile could feel her.

She felt the Veil-pull of the templar in the room increase. Ignoring it as she fought to control herself.

She was always trying to follow through with Havardr's teaching of letting those hurts go. Not allowing it to control her emotions or mental state. It was a constant battle for her. Constantly gnawing on a dry, marrow bone like a mad dog. Emotional teeth worn and broken whenever it is mentioned.

She sighed, loosening her contact with the Fade, "It doesn't matter. Do as you see fit with the information Josephine."

The invisible tension in the room broke.

"I will send scouts to protect the Mother. We can convene until the bird arrives." The tactical spymaster improvised.

The emotionally-bruised Herald was grateful that the group wasn't pushing her on her lineage.

After the meeting was adjourned, Katja thought about who she would bring along the journey. She knew Cassandra would automatically go with her. Well, she could only think of Varric and Solas. Small rapports were built between them through their small conversations. Unsure of their decisions she went up to ask them.

Solas was her first stop, since it was him that healed her on two occasions and he was closer than the tavern was.

He was busily grinding herbs in steady, precise movements. His hut-house neatly clutter in instruments and piles of ledgers and tomes. Artifacts suited for an intellectual lifestyle. Along with jars of dried herbs and various liquids. Instruments made for his knowledge of healing. The warmth from the hearth emulated well into the small space. Along with sporadic candles that lit with even luminance.

The elf let her in.

For the next few minutes she explained to the elf the plans and, if he was willing, to accompany her to the Hinderlands. At first he was unsure as to why. After some reasons and reassurances on her part, he agreed.

Varric wasn't as hard to convince. He was half-way into his tankard at the Tavern and happily talked her up about the Hinderland mission. Him and Bianca would lend their services without complaint. Somehow he had convinced her in the middle of the conversation to take a few swigs of the brew.

Leaving the Tavern slightly tipsy and a chuckling dwarf behind.

The fallowing day she grew restless with being cooped up in her hut-house.

She needed physical exertion. Remembering the training grounds outside the walls, she made it a date to pay those poor wooden men a visit. Bless her, she was trying to mentally block the reverence left in her wake. Katja felt the Veil-pull from the residing templars and a certain one. As long as they don't pester her, she will ignore them.

Cassandra already beat her to the training dummies.

The warrior woman acknowledged her mid-stroke. Katja would wait her turn, and she would have been alright with doing so. Silently waiting.

"What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life." She hacked all the harder at the training dummies, "One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right."

Katja realized the Seeker wanted a brief chat, and that was alright with her. She hoped her communication skills wouldn't hinder her. Like it almost did the previous day.

"You had to do it. No one, not even the Chantry is attempting to do anything right now. From my observation they will stand in fire and complain about it being hot."

She laughed bitterly, "Your right, but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with. We are the only ones that who can possibly close the Breach. And find those responsible and end them. I pray that the price isn't too high."

Cassandra sliced harshly against the training dummy, it's wooden left arm coming off and plopping down on the snowy ground, along with her sword, "'Cassandra you are too brash. You must think before you act.' Those where the words my trainers always said. I countered that I know what must be done and I do it. No need to run in circles like a mad dog. But I... misjudged you."

"Well, you had cause Cassandra. Ya know: lone survivor after a blast, glowing body part. If it were reversed I'd leap to the same conclusion." If she were in the Fade, it would have been easier to reassure the woman. That the misunderstanding wasn't held against her.

She snorted, "You take it lightly, but I am glad to know you don't hold it against me."

"No problem. Besides there were bigger things to worry about." She was grateful she was succeeding in her verbal skills. Understanding is good.

"It has occurred to me that I don't know much about you Katja," Cassandra said as she slashed at the dummy target. "You've told little of yourself."

"Oh? Your old habit Seekerness coming out?"

She stopped mortified, "I wasn't -"

"Just teasing!" she interjected before she looked like the target dummy, "Go ahead and ask, as long as I can reciprocate. And be forewarned, some things," her voice went quiet, "are better left unsaid."

Cassandra nodded in understanding, and spoke in her direction, "You are unlike any mage I have seen, you wield magic with undo mastery - some skills would take years or decades for a Circle mage or even an apostate. It is obvious you are an apostate but the question remains: Who taught you?"

"It wasn't the Circle who taught me. It was that spirit that came out of the Rift. Solas explained him to you. Havardr is a wonderful teacher. He's… thorough."

Slim brows knitted together on the Seekers face in what she guessed would be consideration, "I know little of spirits. It is my understanding that they have the potential of possessing people, predominantly mages because of their Fade connection. This spirit has never tried to?"

"Nope. Not once. The vast majority of spirits are content on _staying_ in the Fade. Pursuing their interests or whatever niche they occupy. It's a shame that the small group, which coincidentally causes the _most_ ruckus, are the ones that gain attention and study over. It's like… writing a history book on Thedas but only Antivan silk is the main subject. Does that make any sense? Or am I rambling?"

Cassandra stopped her mock hack and slashing in what Katja could guess, was contemplation.

She resumed her melee, "How long has he been teaching you?"

She had to think on it, "My earliest memory of him was at 5 years of age. As for teaching me, that came about within my short tenure at the Ostwick Circle. He's been the only constant in my life."

"Then what is your life? What's your story?"

Old hurts started to flare, Katja knew she wasn't asking out of meanness. She kept her face and emotions neutral, "I'll say it so it can be out of the way. Morica and Roderick Trevelyan are my parents. I was sent to the Circle at Ostwick at age 7 – after I accidentally burned some Orlesian drapery." She laughed softly at the memory, "Two years later I escaped the Circle and lived near the Hinderland mountains. When the Blight came ten years ago, I managed to flee into Orlais and resided in the Emerald Graves for its duration. I returned to the Hinderlands and lived their happily as I could until I heard of the Conclave. And it's been shit ever since." It was a brief summary of her life, one that she was safe in telling to just about anyone. Although it wasn't the whole story.

Cassandra showed mild surprise over her brief tale, "You must exaggerate like something out of Varric's tales. You escaped the Circle at age 9? How did you go from Ostwick all the way to the Hinderlands without being caught?!"

Katja smiled smugly, "It wasn't easy, but it was worth it. Believe it or not, I was caught twice near Denerim but I made sure there wouldn't be a third time. Havardr was my guide."

"What of your parents? Surely they would have sent someone in search of you."

She ground her teeth from rage, "We... won't speak of them."

Cassandra, surprised by her sudden ire, dropped the subject. She recalled what Josephine had asked when the subject about asking her Trevelyan relatives for the Inquisition's cause.

"Tell me Katja. If you enjoyed living apart from the Circle. Why were you at the Conclave?" Cassandra questioned.

Katja furrowed her pale brows over bright, passionate red eyes, her earlier ire dissipated, grateful she wasn't pushing, "I grew tired of hiding. Worrying if Templars were around if and when I used magic. I learned more _away_ from the Circle that I ever did _within_ it. And... for other reasons." her face grew distant as old, painful memories surfaced in her mind.

Cassandra chuckled, "I still find it hard to swallow that for 18 years you've avoided detection from the Templars. You don't exactly look common in feature." She said referring to her reddish eyes and snow white hair. "Not only that, but you are a noble girl – despite being a mage."

"That's why I avoided the towns when I could, but I found a way to change my hair color - without magic - and you wouldn't notice my red eyes unless you were close enough. When the Templars did eventually come to the Hinderlands, they were looking for a noble, mage girl with white hair and red eyes but what they saw was a scrawny, mute, orphan girl with brown hair covered in dirt. No second glances."

"Ah, that would explain that when you fell into the river, your hair reverted back to its original color."

Katja smiled, "Yes, and it feels good knowing I don't have to do that process after a bath. Kinda pointless now."

Cassandra grunted in affirmative, "Yes, that would. Leliana would be interested in hearing that part of your tale. She's always looking for ways to better her network." She did a mock hack and slash at the training dummy before speaking again, "What do you intend to do after all of this is finished?"

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise, and gave her most honest answer, "As long as it's doesn't evolve a Circle, I'm fine. Although..." she trailed off to one of longing, "I would love to go back to my mountains in the Hinderlands." She sighed, "Now, if you are done abusing these poor men I would like to take a swing."

"Of course."

She smiled slyly while getting in her 'battle-ready' pose, "Now Lady Seeker, this is how you whip a man into shape."

From there, it was reciprocated on Katja's part on learning about Cassandra. While she was simultaneously slashing, igniting, freezing and/or zapping wooden men in a feminist rage. Great team players.

Unbeknownst to Katja, the Commander of the Army listened with some interest to the conversation between the two women.

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N.]<strong> A special thanks to Alexifel, Creative Lunatic, Dragonfire81, Elitheginger, Schizophrenic-unicorn, lizewert83, secret . geek2009 for either following or faved! :)

I'm also working on some art DA:I related and will post some links when it becomes available. Good day to everyone!


	5. Vicarious

Chapter 4: Vicarious

It was taking longer than expected for Katja's patience. Couldn't be helped though. So, in her fit of boredom, she found things to do for the camp in the form of requisitions.

Need logging stands, a local mine, and a local quarry? Done.

Her most fun adventure was hunting.

She was a total pro-badass at it.

Apparently some of their shipments of food was running late and their storages were almost depleted. No one _asked_ her to go hunting. She just took it upon herself to do so. From her understanding amongst the rumblings of Haven, they had no skilled hunters to fetch some of the local wildlife.

By mid-afternoon she had caught three Druffalo, five rams, and fifteen nugs.

The look on some of the locals faces when she asked to use their transportation wagons.

Well, she had to get her kicks in somehow, right?

Those she had built a small rapport with was certainly surprised. Well, she had to be a skilled hunter to live out in the wilds nearly all her life. It was either that or starve. Sometimes even stealing some wheat and carrots from an ornery old-farmer.

In a way, she felt it was her obligation to make sure those of the Inquisition was cared for. If she was consenting to be the primary face of this band of order-loving misfits, she would make sure they were taken care of. It made sense to her that if they wanted to keep whatever supporters, soldiers, whoever, that keeping their bellies full should be the covered as a base necessity. That it was her duty that they were at least fed even if it meant that she went trekking in the wilds to bag some game.

That was her basic reasoning when her band of team players asked her _why_ she went out hunting. All of them gave her strange looks to her. Again, annoyed at herself and her lack of social education. She was sure that they approved of her attitude and reasons about it. Hopefully. They didn't out-right disapprove. Not even the templar – Commander – Cullen. That guy.

The next day the bird arrived about Mother Giselle. The scouts that were sent were protecting the Mother and the refugees at a local village. The Commander having already sent soldiers, thirty in total, were being stationed within the village itself to help secure the residual area from the war and aid the refugees. If they ride hard the fallowing morning they will meet up around the same time as the soldiers to seamlessly secure the village. A plan was quickly formulated and the fallowing morning the four of them – Varric, Cassandra, Solas, and herself – set out to the Hinderlands on horseback.

Glad to be away from the ogles of Haven and the confinement that came with close proximity of others. She breathed the clean air. Not a whiff of smoke, cooking, latrines, or general habitation of people.

That changed once they neared the Hinderlands.

The landscape had changed drastically the last she was here.

It was generally peaceful here until the war came calling. The far off cries of war echoed in the hills and trees and water. Patches of heavy smoke in the distance polluted the sky and air. It wasn't everywhere, but where it was blotted the landscape like lesions. She was both angry and sorrowful. Though she could understand the frustrations that lead to anger on both parties. Even when her anger _after_ never got to the point of filling the world with fire and sword.

It was very close though.

Seeing the state of this small piece of the world made her more resolute than she previously was to see that the war of mages and templars come to a close. Maybe along the way, heal bits of herself that were being stubborn.

She meet up with the scout party and was debriefed by Harding. A dwarf woman with heavy freckles, yellow-orange hair, and informative demeanor. True to the Commander's words, the thirty soldiers were right behind her group – an hour's march. Having ran into them along the way. Not wanting to wait for them, she and her compatriots set out into the village, aware of the fighting just next to the village where Mother Giselle resided.

She was familiar with the particular village through her sporadic visits. Often to sell leftover meat or hides she didn't need for coin or barter for other items. It infuriated her like the flames from casted spells on the burnt earth.

Once she and her rag-tag group came near the village where they instantly attacked by both mages and templars. True to the Commander's word, again, they didn't care who got caught up with their skirmishes. They fought them off, killing every last one that raised a staff or sword to them. Uncaring that Cassandra cried out that they were not part of the fighting.

Katja hardened herself at the sight. The senselessness. In her heart, if things were different, when she was much younger and ruthless, she would have been one of them. She would be one of these angry, power-hungry, dead mages. At one point she was _them_. She kept those thoughts to herself. Never thinking she would have those feelings and thoughts. It disturbed her.

Through some words with the refugees, who were grateful for their intervention, pointed to where the Mother was.

Mother Giselle was found among the wounded. At the time, convincing a soldier to allow a mage to heal his injuries; which he reluctantly agreed. Once that was done did she acknowledge her and her companions.

Katja detected an air of weariness with her. She could sympathize with current events.

"You must be the one they're calling the Herald of Andraste." The demur Mother asked softly.

She sighed, "Correct, even when I don't want them too." Mentally rolling her eyes at the thought.

The Mother nodded and led her away from the injured.

"I know of the Chantry's denouncement, and I'm familiar with those behind it. I won't lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us…"

Her thoughts went back to the bodies of the mages and templars she killed earlier.

"It wasn't the best time for anyone."

"Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe."

Katja cocked her brows, "That could possibly make it worse. And to boot a mage coming to their doors."

"Let me put it too you this way: You needn't convince them all. You just need some of them to _doubt_. Their power is a unified voice against you. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need what you need to do for the Breach."

Katja groaned at the prospect. "Why do I get the feeling it's not that simple?"

"I honestly don't know if you've been touched by fate or sent to help us… but I hope. And many others do. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us… or destroy us."

Katja had another sense of time compression. Havardr's words ringing in her head _"With your scar pointed to the burning sky. Two choices you are given: Destroy or heal."_

"Your reinforcements will suffice to bring aid to the village. And the remaining sisters will tend to the wounded and refugees. I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do what I can."

Thinking on what Mother Giselle said. She just needed to make them 'doubt'? How was she going to do that? Once she got back to Haven she would discuss it with the other team players.

It would be over a two week interim before she returned to Haven.

There were so many things to do!

She didn't realize the magnitude of being the face of the Inquisition would do to her. Her compatriots and her were constantly on the move. They would take some respite for a few hours, but never too long before resuming onward. It compounded on her mind that this was her duty. That so many trusted and believed in her. Tendrils of fear creeping into her mind. Doubts settling.

At first she was glad to take it on.

She close many rifts. Convinced the Horse-Master Dennett to supply horses to the Inquisition – all that remained was giving the players in Haven the map for the towers. Supply caches and food for the refugees and locals for the villages. It filled her with pride. Knowing she's fulfilling a purpose. Years of solitude couldn't grant her that.

But as the days went on she turned inward.

Especially when they gathered information on the hide-a-ways for the rebel tempars and mages.

She, along with the rest of her party, coordinated an attack plan with the soldiers Cullen stationed to clean them out. Though she hated the term 'cleaning them out'. She reasoned with herself that it was necessary, neither parties would see reason. That if they didn't do it, both parties would continue until they killed themselves along with most of the population. The heaviness of her station sinking in.

Havardr gave her small comforts in the Fade when she slept.

"Do it the right thing Snow Kitten for the right reasons. Even when you highly dislike the decision. I speak from experience. It comes from simply existing. Don't let the act itself discourage you." Images of blood and gore washing away from rain. Bright grass and tall trees replacing the disharmony. "Life will return. Peace will come back, it always does." Katja felt his absoluteness and certainty – hard, stony and stubborn knowledge. "Now that those rebellious mortals are gone, guess what take place for the ones who had to flee?"

She thought, colors and images flashing, reflecting her thoughts – discord in her thinking until it solidified. Mortals returning. Building homes. Laughing children. Healing wounds. Physical and mental happiness. Red and black emotions softening to pinks and yellows. Warmth and safety.

Satisfaction radiating from the lion spirit. "Keep going Snow Kitten."

He even made her laugh a few times.

During these excursions of helping the Hinderlands, she was able to exhume some knowledge about the templar Commander and Leliana. Though, if the truth must be told, she was more interested in hearing about the templar. The Leliana front was a small bust on her. The was the late Divine's left hand and knew her before she ascended to the position. Now to ease into the blond templar.

"Who Curly? The ladies are just keeping him around because he looks pretty." Varric chuckled at his own remark.

_Curly?_ Katja was starting to question Varric's sense of self-preservation with the aliases he was assigning certain members.

Groaning in disgust, Cassandra corrected him, "Cullen _was_ a templar Knight-Captain and de facto Knight-Commander in Kirkwall. He no longer associates himself with the Order. I offered the position of Commander to him before the Divine's death."

"I remember a few run ins with him in Kirkwall." Varric added, "He could be a prickly guy. Though, he did technically turn on the Knight-Commander when she threatened to tear Kirkwall's mages into tranquil. And those years after that, well, it wasn't easy for him I suppose. Kirkwall was a hellhole after that, and I'm from there. That guy really did try to maintain some semblance of order."

"Yes, some of us are aware of that story Varric." Katja noticed that her face looked like the equivalent to something that had a raunchy odor in the air. She guess that was a bad subject between them.

"At any rate," she continued, "Cullen is an intelligent and cautious man. His years as a templar have hardened him in the ways of battle – as with most templars. Also, his knowledge of the inner-workings of the Order will be beneficial should any templars wish to come to the Inquisition. I highly doubt any sort of short-comings from him."

The information was… surprising to Katja. Though, she didn't exactly know _what_ to expect about him. Perhaps one day she will explore further with more direct questions at the ex-templar – Commander. For now her curiosity was satiated.

Unfortunately, that curiosity would have to wait.

When they did eventually return to Haven, Joesphine and Leliana had already made use of the information that Mother Giselle presented for the Inquisition. A meeting was set up in Val Royeaux in three days time and the very next morning they would, once again, need to set out on horses.

There was a petty squabble between the resident mages and templars the evening of their departure. Grand Chancellor Roderick lending a voice to the throng. She was just passing through when she heard the commotion. The Commander attempting to break it up. Now wasn't the time for heated debates between these two groups. Especially for her since it was just days ago troves of them lay dead in the Hinderlands.

She was in no mood for their hysterics.

Raising her Veil-pull, both opposing groups took notice of her. Their 'Herald'. She noticed their angry faces instantly slacked in her presence. Now was the time to put them to bed.

"Is this the late Divine's legacy? It is my understanding that she was a promoter of peace between both of you. Of everyone. Instead of raging at her death, celebrate her life. Don't let her pass on to the Maker believing she failed you all."

The words lifted from her mouth without consent. Fear flooded into her being. Her uncertainty with words made her clutch her hands together. Her heart started to race. Fully aware that several dozen eyes were looking at her, along with the surprise of a bronze pair.

_Mother Giselle's words echoed in her mind, "The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other."_

The two groups poses slackened from their tightness. That was good for her to see.

Though it had the opposite effect of the Chancellor.

"Her legacy wouldn't have been cut short if it were not for you! This Inquisition is not sanctioned! All of you are heretics!"

Her nose caught a whiff of fear from the Chancellor. Fear she read well. Fear she knew how to dispel.

"Perhaps were are Chancellor. We 'heretics' are extended our hands to everyone, even to those who would burn it. We need no sanction to offer aid and protection. Is it necessary to sanction kindness? Compassion? Food? Shelter? I doubt the Maker or Andraste would allow any one of us to go that low. Even when some of us squabble." She eyed the templars and mages. "As for what happened to the Divine, the Maker has made it a priority to keep that knowledge hidden. I would gladly offer some comfort as to what happened to her at the Conclave. However, at this moment in time, only the Maker knows."

"As if the Maker would allow such a thing to occur! The Chantry will find out who killed Divine Justinia."

She sighed, he was becoming a nuisance, "Yes, they will once they open their doors again. Though, by that time, there won't be anyone who will walk through because the world is falling apart and killing itself. That is the Inquisition's purpose. To make sure there are those to walk through the door. No matter who that may be.

"Now," relaxing somewhat, though she was still perturbed, "if the Inquisition's mages and templars are done voicing their fervent opinions, I ask that they retire for the night. And hopefully, have clearer and more level heads the next time they want to be passionate on their views."

The whole courtyard was silent.

Many of the templars and mages looked at the ground. Slowly, they dispersed. Along with the Chancellor, though he still looked at her like she was smelling foul. Maybe she needed a bath?

She let out a breath. Her hot nerves from speaking to such a large group quenched. Though it didn't quite cool since the ex-templar, Cullen, looked at her in a relaxed expression. At the very least close to it.

"Thank you, " he nodded and shifted his stance, "I thought I would have to resort to calling some of the soldiers to break them up. You did very well with handling it."

Katja clasped her hands, "Yes, ah, well, they were being rather loud. Plus, I didn't want to wake in the morning having Haven burned to the ground." She was trying to lighten it up, but speaking to him still made her nervous.

"That they were, it possible that everyone in the Frostbacks heard them." He cocked a brow and the side of his mouth that had his scar upturned in a crooked grin.

She blinked at couple of times. The crooked grin pulled on something within her, it wasn't unpleasant but she mentally willed it away. Pushing the confusing sensation down into her mental depths.

Was he… did she detect… humor? That knocked her into a loop. She was certain that it was humor, but with her lack of social interaction it was possible she was misinterpreting it. Gathering some courage, she decided to test it.

"If their voices were used against darkspawn the Grey Wardens would have some hardy competition."

The Commander snorted a laugh. He had a sense of humor. She added that to her list about him.

"Well, Herald, this has taken up enough of your time. I wish you a good night's rest for tomorrows journey. Maker knows you're going to need it for Val Royeaux."

Scrabbling for a sentence, "Ah, you as well Commander. Though I ask that Haven won't be torn down on my return."

He nodded sternly, "It will still be standing."

She started to turn away, but remembered why she was coming into the Chantry.

"Oh, ah, Commander." She called out in realization.

He stopped his turn-a-round to regard her, "Yes?"

She nervously reached into one of her leather pockets to produce a parchment and she handed it to the Commander. He took the paper, the leather from his glove caused a spark of electricity that ran up her arm and into her head when he touched her finger tips. Screaming internally that a small bit of _himself_ was _in her space_. That touched _her_.

His brows furrowed at the folded piece of parchment.

Mentally scrambling for words. "It's a map. Of the Hinderlands."

He cocked his brow. He was silent. More?

"I met the Horse-Master there. He agreed to join the Inquisition and supply horses if we built three spotter towers at the points I marked on the map. Could you, ah, see to their construction?"

Mentally screaming at herself over giving the map to him. Quickly coming up with a reason, "We don't have a reputation to convince a noble or have enough coin to have them built by a third party. Which is Josephine's area. And Leliana, well, she is a spymaster, secrets and stealth are her forte. Ah, armies build stuff right? Siege equipment and the like. And occasionally tearing stuff down."

_Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! You stupid bitch why go and –_

The Commander chuckled, stopping her mental rant.

"Very true Herald. Seems a fair trade to earn a Horse-Master and his horses with spotter-towers. We have some soldiers who are familiar with construction. They'll use local timber and mortar for the buildings themselves. I'll get on it right away. Thank you Herald, this will help the Inquisition immensely."

She nodded, turned on her heel, and stiffly walked back to her hut-house.

That night she could hardly sleep. The incident earlier grated on her nerve-memory. The words between her and the ex-templar, Commander, Cullen, echoed vibrantly. Leaving the inside of her mind itchy. Well, it was as close as she could come to it anyway. It was a sensation wrapped around her mind. Dubbing it as 'itchy' was the closest she could describe it.

She hated shifting through her emotions. It wasn't necessarily her _emotions_ that she was frustrated with. Katja was _uncertain_.

Once thing that she hated most was uncertainty. Not the world per se, that just gave her headaches. It was _people_. She wanted to always be certain about someone. If she was consenting to being the face of the Inquisition – thanks to her stupid mark – she, at the very least, wanted to be certain about the people associated with it. That she could trust them.

But that was another problem she saw in herself. She was inherently distrustful! It had lessened to some extent the older she got. However some things got automatically in the 'distrust' pile.

The Flaming Sword was still up round the Commander. Even a bent and chipping one. Her stubborn paranoia around that insignia was still tight around him.

_I will dispel this stupid-ass-fuck uncertainty. Just as soon as I get some damn peace!_

* * *

><p>The Commander sighed quizzically. The map that Trevelyan produced was of exceptional quality! It lay on his desk within his tent, neatly unfolded – Cullen staring at it to peal it's secrets.<p>

Through his trained eye it was most certainly made while out in the field rather than a procured map from a vendor. It was the type of field map that he would see with highly trained scouts (which the Inquisition lacked) or templars. The map had that level of detail. However, lacked the type of detail that vendor maps would sell. Those would take days of tediousness to produce.

He would have to ask her later.

The level of nervousness she expressed puzzled him as well. The astute man could tell from her hand gestures her nervousness. Templar training at the forefront – he must see his target and gauge reactions with a wide perception to see it all as a whole. Perhaps she was unsure that building simple spotter towers was in his field of expertise? It was those types of gestures he noticed with her in their brief interactions. Her face would remain neutral otherwise. A nervous tick he reasoned.

He was most certainly glad for the her production of the map. A Horse-Master and whatever horses he had was invaluable seeing as they lacked both.

Not only that, but her welcome intrusion with the argumentative mages and residing templars.

He smiled inwardly at her handling of the situation. Trevelyan's calm neutralness dispelled their fire and even had the Chancellor scamper off. That particular hand gesture was made during it, signaling her internal nervousness.

However, the Commander knew too well from experience that neutrality was a self-defense mechanism. It was used as a way to hide oneself from others. No one can read what they cannot see.

Though it begged the question in the Commander's mind: What is she hiding?

_Could be nothing. One's private thoughts are their own._

Said private thoughts were interrupted by, "Commander, permission to enter."

Cullen sighed, his mental reverie would have to continue some other time.

"Enter."

A tall, well-built templar, with sandy blonde hair with dark blue eyes came inside. His jaw covered by a thick, well-cropped, pale-blonde beard that had a grey streak on the right side of his mouth.

"Ah, Knight-Commander Aedelric, what brings you here?" asked the Commander.

Knight-Commander Aedelric was one of the newer templars to join their cause. He was previously stationed at Ostwick, a Free-March city that has remained neutral in the Mage-Templar war. When the Commander asked him upon his first arrival why he wished to join the Inquisition he simply stated, "My time at Ostwick and as Knight-Commander has run its course."

The Commander in Cullen was certainly welcoming to him. He was one of the few templars, himself included, who held significant rank within the Order. He even had five more years experience than himself. It was that experience that gave him seniority within the templars in the Inquisition.

"I have come to apologize for the disgraceful act my fellow templars demonstrated at the Chantry's steps. I've given them extra regimes and duties while having them recite the Chant of Transfigurations while doing so. Hopefully that will sink into their skulls. I want you to know that once I heard about their transgressions, I was on my way to knock some since into their fool heads, but the… Herald beat me too it."

That was one thing he admired about the Knight-Commander, he was a simple, no non-sense person. He was stern as iron. He expected the best from his templars just as his templars expected the best from him. Both on and off the field.

"I'm glad to hear that it didn't escape your notice. The Herald handled the situation well and hopefully her words sink in just as the Chant will. The Inquisition cannot afford its own little war on its doorsteps."

The Knight-Commander nodded firmly, "Agreed Commander. The Herald… wasn't what I expected." He folded his arms.

The Commander chuckled, "I would have thought the same. She's got a way of conducting herself that gets everyone's attention. It's worked as a whole. Many here admire her for it."

"I would imagine. It would seem that her being a mage during this war is not hampering those admirers. It is heartening to see that there are those who are not beyond reasoning."

"Very much so Knight-Commander."

"What is she like? The Herald? That was the first time I've actually seen her. And you know of the gossip."

The Commander groaned. He was aware of the gossip, though he disliked talking about her beyond their circle. Bits of protectiveness swelling in his chest.

"Why do you ask?"

The stern Knight-Commander chuckled, "You can rest easy Commander. I'm not a dullard who gossips. Nor am I asking because she is a mage and, I, a templar. I just want to be sure of my decision to join the Inquisition. I need to know that those I am choosing to fallow are aligned with my own views."

That the Commander could understand. The Knight-Commander was being a cautious man, and any cautious man needed a wealth of research and reassurance that a decision was sound.

"Let me quell any doubt Knight-Commander; she has shown more admirable and respectable traits that goes beyond the mark on her hand. Traits that are sorely needed in this world."

Out of Cullen's limited knowledge of her, that was most certain. He had little vocal interaction with her, but he reports of her goings-on in the Hinderlands and here at Haven were proof enough despite her more quiet demeanor. Along with the conversation she had with Cassandra that he… overheard.

It might even be said that he himself admired her as well for her actions.

"You do this old man good Commander. Certainty is good."

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N.]<strong> Hot damn the follow/fav list just shot up! Thank you indy's girl, Annunbalien, dragontranslator, Randomnerdier, Shiridan, kannabi-no-miko, and saqqara08!


	6. I'm Going Slightly Mad

Chapter 5 : I'm Going Slightly Mad

Well, the Chantry angle was a huge success. _Not_.

Sure. Go ahead. While the sky is ripping itself apart bark and scratch each other. I'm sure doomsday can wait for your bickering to stop.

She wanted something to hit.

Bad.

Those training dummies look like a prime target. Some wood and cloth flying in the air couldn't hurt to satiate her ire. One problem: the templar Commander. Well… _ex_-templar Commander.

Katja didn't want to say "once a templar always a templar" because that would mean "once a circle mage always a circle mage" in her situation.

She sure as shit wasn't a circle mage.

She knew that he would be there to oversee training of the recruits along with his other duties as Commander of the Inquisition's army. A small one, but an army non-the-less.

When it came to the army, she'll leave it up to him – so a small trust in that. Since it was Cassandra that appointed it to him pre-death-in-the-sky. As far as she knew, he as a professional. Best be left at arm's length.

Which was fine with her.

_The hell am I doing? Tripping over my cunt. It's not like I'll be bashing in the faces of the recruits! Or 'Curly's' face as Varric calls him._

She snorted at the nickname. Heh, _Curly_.

Decision made. Some wooden faces were going to get bashed in. Maybe frozen, zapped, and/or ignited.

On her way to the training grounds she heard mutters of "That's the Herald of Andraste" and one or two more bows than she wanted to see. Once she was at the training grounds some of the recruits balked at her proximity.

_I gotta get outta here._

She promptly canceled her date with the dummies and decided an impromptu hunting trip in the surrounding area would be a better pace.

Nothing like killing innocent animals to forget about this bullshit.

She made a stiff right. Feeling the Veil pull from a certain _EX!-_templar and current-templars. Ignoring it as she made her way up the beaten road and into the forest. She diminished her connection to the Fade and the Veil to a small glimmer and set out.

* * *

><p>"Commander have you seen Katja since our return?" Cassandra asked Cullen.<p>

He thought back to earlier that day where he saw her enter the forest. It was brief as he was reprimanding the recruits who faltered when her presence came into the training grounds. He felt her Veil connection but then it's sudden muteness, at the time he thought nothing of it. Being too preoccupied.

The Commander relayed her earlier spot.

It was nearly dark and most of Haven was indoors enjoying their evening meal.

"No one else has seen her. She maybe out hunting."

He took the information and analyzed it, "I'll go and find her. I'll go in the direction she went off." He sighed, now wasn't the time for the Herald to go off without protection. Even if it is in the vicinity of Haven. He ordered his second to come along with him, he wasn't pleased about his meal being interrupted, but came without dispute.

Cullen made his way into the stables and found his horse – Valor – saddled him and trotted in the general direction of the Herald's departure. His second in close toe on his horse. The prints were still there, although faint. He fallowed them ever deeper into the forest, each passing moment grew more dark. More colder. Good thing he brought a torch with him.

He mentally reprimanded her for going off in this cold with nothing but her standard armor and leathers. His breath fogged heavily.

He tried with minimal success locating her Veil-pull. It wasn't as strong as he was used to. All he was able to discern was the general direction and he went that way. A strong wind blew and he pulled his fur cloak closer to his body. One mile out, he saw a small cave a light with a dim fire. He saw shadows blocking the fire light and decided to investigate. There was a definite pull and it only got a notch stronger the closer he got. Confident it was her, he commanded Valor into a gallop to the cave.

Valor and his second's horse neighed softly in displeasure. It only took a moment to see why – some wolves were gathered at the mouth of the cave.

Bad scenarios played out in his head. Wolves. Katja's Veil-pull inside the cave.

He was fully prepared to fight the wolves if necessary until he saw said woman emerge unmolested from the cave. She sighed, petted one of the wolves on the head – he felt a small spike in the Veil – all at once the wolves acknowledged her and went back inside the lighted cave.

Cautiously, he dismounted and tied Valor to a tree branch, ordered his second to stay in the tree line and walked toward the Herald.

The light behind her cased an eerie glow around her thick, long, white hair and gave her eyes a ruby florescence.

A small part of his chest caught but willed it away at his more present annoyance.

She crossed her arms in defiance, "You here to command me back to Haven?"

It was wholly accusatory, a little loathing, and a dash of 'make me.'

They've had little interaction between the two of them until this point. So, he couldn't say what her current mood would be. Cassandra would be a better choice in that, since they've spent more time together. Why did he volunteer for this mission again?

"Cassandra was worried." It was a lame answer, he knew.

She let out a loud groan, "Then why isn't _she_ here then?"

"You shouldn't be out by yourself Her –"

"Agh‼" she suddenly through her arms up in exasperation, "Andraste's _teats_! I can't go a fuckin' day _without_ hearing that in my direction! It's Katja! Kat – _ja_!" she placed her hands on her hips.

He was silent from the outburst.

"Well! Mr Commander _Ser_! If you must be oh-so formal, Trevelyan would be fine. Not the _h_-word!" he saw her eyes blazed in annoyance, "I'm so tired of hearing it you just don't know!"

Sighing, The Commander not needing this in the slightest, "Trevelyan," he started when she didn't interrupt, "you shouldn't be out by yourself." He tried to sound calm but this wasn't going to plan for him.

She shook slightly and blinked as if struck looked around herself and stated, "What kind of woman you take me for?"

He didn't know how to respond to that.

"What? Now that you guys know I'm of noble birth I'm all of a sudden a _doll_? Is that why I'm asked to bring along companions? Oh, whoop-de-_doo_ I'm a sissy noble girl that needs rescuing from a little cold." She said mockingly as a frilly girl, "Please, Commander, I've been on my own for several years now, in worse conditions than a warm fire in a secluded cave, with some furry bodyguards." She said more seriously. "I don't need ah – you _guys,_" she pointed at him with a lame finger, " – to wait on me hand and foot when I bump my toe. I think I can survive a night by _myself_."

Andraste preserve him.

"Trevelyan," he started, maybe a bit more gruff than his intention was, "you are important now. I don't know what your life was before. But you can't go out without protection. You know –"

"I know all too well Commander!" she hissed out quietly, "The Chantry hates my guts – even after I tried to appeal to them. Ya know, hey! I'm not a madwoman that wants to burn it all to the ground! Many still believe I'm responsible for this whole damn mess even without the Chantry bringing metaphorical fire my way. But nope! 'Fuck you we'd rather debate over Divine rather than see that big asshole in the sky raining rift-shit!'

"The Mage-Templar war is still going on – despite the fact that that their 'leftovers' are all dead in the Hinderlands. Speaking of them! The rebel mages are holed up in Redcliff – Guess what? They threw out the arl. Fiona has invited to red-rover me over to Redcliffe. The Templars have left the Chantry with Seeker Lucius and gone off to 'who-the-fuck-knows'. Unfortunately I need _one_ of them to come over to help me power up my mark so I can successfully close the Breach in the hope – a _small_ hope – to do so. But nope! They both have thus far have said 'Fuck you! We'd rather be ramming ourselves with each other's staffs and swords!'

"I have refugees and recruits I worry over – ya know fed and warm and treating their injuries – more come every day. On top of that, I'm the only fuckin' person that can close the Breach and rifts. So, yes! I know how fuckin' important I am because they keep calling me the H-WORD OF FUCKIN' _ANDRASTE_!" Trevelyan sighed heavily in exasperation. Her last sentence she practically yelled and the echo could be heard for a full ten seconds before dying off.

Cullen could feel the Veil around her spike dangerously the more Trevelyan spoke. His old Templar training going straight to the forefront of his mind. He had to mentally reprimand himself before the urge to cast a Holy Smite or Silence. The Veil around her calmly dissipated after her tirade.

He felt guilty.

Cullen hadn't spent much interaction with her to gauge her mental state. Those he did have were short and she wore a mask of neutrality – which had suddenly vanished from her bearings. Surly Cassandra or one of the other companions would have noticed? Maybe she was hiding it? He doubted Cassandra of all people would have failed to notice the strain. He would defiantly mention a possible solution to this dilemma to Cassandra later.

In his mental reverie he failed to notice that the wolves what were in the cave came back out and were whimpering, licking and patting her hands and legs, or showing their bellies.

She closed her eyes, took several deep breathes before her face turned to one of calmness. Her ruby red eyes opened. Sadness edging along her eyes along with her normal neutrality. She patted one of the wolves on the head and by some unspoken command they went back inside.

It was then she looked back at him, "Is it too much to ask that I have one measly night to myself without hearing 'H-word I need your attention'?"

Cullen almost wanted to chuckle at her use of 'h-word' instead of Herald. Almost.

He knew what it is like to have responsibility clamor at you with no end in sight. The demands of the station. Especially with one so unaccustomed to leadership or reverence, he could see how it could get to her.

He felt like a real piece of dragon dung then.

Choosing his next words carefully, "I cry your pardon Trevelyan. I didn't realize you wanted to be alone. Just, next time, let one of the advisers know. Cassandra wanted to tear Haven on its head looking for you."

Trevelyan laughed bitterly, "Sounds like her."

He nodded, "Indeed. I have a compromise." He saw her furrow her brows, "For tonight, I'll keep guard. I know you can take care of yourself, or else you wouldn't go head long into a battle and come out with minimal damage. With or without aid. It's just standard precaution. I'll tell you this, no one in the Inner Circle, not even myself, would consent to you having no other form of guard watching for any danger."

He saw her clench her jaw and look away into the distance. Her neutral expression fading slightly.

For several moments she didn't speak and he was afraid that she would outright refuse him.

She slowly turned her head, sighed, defeated, "Alright. But! You" she pointed at him, becoming _slightly_ animated, "are staying on the opposite end of the fire. If you try _anything_, you'll have fourteen furry bodyguards making a midnight snack out of your puny balls."

He nodded, "I understand." The Commander had to fight the urge to grab his nether region in masculine protection. The mental image of his genitals being eaten by wolves was not on his agenda anytime soon.

The Commander turned on his heel, went back to his second, gave him his orders. As he was dismissed Cullen untied his horse and brought him closer to the cave for warmth. He gave some protest with being so close to wolves, until Trevelyan came out placed her hand on his head. By that same unspoken command he had witness with the wolves, Valor instantly responded. He instantly calmed in the wolves presence as they by Cullen's observation, ignored each other. Valor didn't even require his guidance, he, by an unseen pull, fallowed Trevelyan and stopped by a proscribed spot.

Cassandra had reported her observations about her oddities being a mage to him. But to witness it. He certainly didn't hear about her powers with lesser beasts. There were mages with similar abilities, but those were rare and only could appeal to a specific breed.

The weary Commander took a spot near the fire that would allow him to sit upright. On the opposite side of Trevelyan. As promised.

It was then he noticed a particular raunchy, bloody smell. Further into the cave he noticed a fresh kill of a Druffalo. It was mostly eaten and the bits that were left were the ones that the wolves wouldn't eat. Like the bowls.

_Maker's Breath._

Coupled with that, over the fire were three protruding sticks with cubed, muscular cuts of the Druffalo cooking.

The mixture of sweet cooking meat along with a bloody kill made his stomach turn from both nausea and hunger.

Trevelyan seemed to have noticed his discomfort and commented, "You'll get used to the smell in a moment. I wasn't intending on sharing my meal, but" she pulled one of the sticks of meat from the ground and waved it to him, "you can have some."

Cullen momentarily hesitated, but took the warm stick with the hot, cooked meat. His hunger making him forget that twenty feet back a Druffalo carcass was stewing.

After a few bites of the sweet, gamey meat Trevelyan suddenly asked, "I understand you were once a templar."

He swallowed the tough, hot meat before replying, "Yes. I left the Order when Cassandra told me of the Divine's plans to start the Inquisition if the Conclave failed."

Cullen noticed her eyes as watchful, like a falcon tracking prey. The luminance of the fire gave her ruby eyes extra intensity. Even when she ripped apart a tough piece of the Druffalo meat. The grease moistening her reddish lips.

_Maker's Breath._

"And you left, just like that." She asked though her chewing, pearl-white teeth showing.

He sighed at the memory, it had only been a short while ago, "I had my reasons for leaving the Order."

"What where they?"

He knitted his brows, contemplating what he felt safe for him to say, "Where the Order was going, I could not follow. I couldn't go along with it, not without losing the good in myself."

All the good that came out of him at Ferelden's Circle and ultimately at Kirkwall.

For a long while Trevelyan was silent. She kept her watchful gaze on him. Old, templar training regimes turning in his head – to see the whole and not the part. Sudden clarity over Trevelyan's neutralness toward him clicked in his mind. It was only toward him that she kept the neutral mask on.

_She sees the Flaming Sword and not the man. The Commander._

He remembered the overheard conversation between Cassandra and her. He surmised that she had… less than fantastic relations with her templar counterparts. Something that, he became aware of the higher in rank he became in the Order. It was another reason why he left. The abuses. Those that happened on both sides.

He was ashamed and guilty of some of them with his anger. What he wanted was to atone and a fresh start at something positive. Some of the memories bled into his vision of the rocky cave. He breathed slowly to regain some composure.

"Do Templars take vows?" her question snapped him out of his meditation down memory crossroads, "Like 'I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages' sort of thing?"

Relieved at the respite from his memories, it was a neutral subject when it came to the Order.

"There's a vigil first. You're meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it's over, you give yourself to a life of service. That's when you're given a philter – your first draught of lyrium – and it's power."

Aches throbbed tenderly around the Commander's body at the mention of lyrium. It has been only a short while since his last draught. Speaking of it didn't help his growing thirst. Or itchy pain.

He continued on, pushing the blue thoughts away, "As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen."

"Service and sacrifice." She whispered, he couldn't place the minuet change in her neutral expression but her watchful eyes seemed almost… Doubtful? Uncertain?

As quickly as her expression changed, it reverted back to watchful neutralness, through her chewing, "What of physical temptations?"

Droffalo meat almost meet the floor in the unexpected question.

"Ph-physical? Why…" he had to clear his throat and stifle an impending cough from the meat partials caught where they shouldn't, "Why would you…" he could feel heat rising to his cheeks, "That's not expected," he admitted, "Templars can marry – although there are rules around it, and the Order must grand permission. Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it's, um, not required."

_Maker please let that satisfy her question about _that_ subject._

"What about you?"

He inwardly panicked at the direction this was going, "Me? I… um… no. I've taken no such vows."

As willing as he was to prove to her that he had left that life behind with answering her questions, it was really getting uncomfortable with the line she had chosen. Old, cloudy memories of a woman with raven hair... bright blue eyes… a singing laughter. For a moment the Commander saw her beside Trevelyan, smiling softly – with a templar sword running through her chest.

"Maker's Breath," he protested, "Can we speak of something else?" The vision of her fading.

Silence permeated in the cave. He was quietly grateful that her questions were quenched. The withdrawals were starting to get to him. He made it a priority to speak to Cassandra in the morning.

"When did you join the Order?"

Apparently her questions were not quenched. They were hard questions for him to answer. Most of them brought back memories that he thought he had forgotten from the lyrium. Some of those memories, he wished he didn't remember. Events bled from his vision periodically throughout their conversation. For a moment, he felt as if he was back there – Ferelden's Circle – Kirkwall.

That was the most excitement for the night for the ex-templar and ex-circle mage before retiring to the opposite ends of the fire. Cullen wrapped up in his thick fur cloak. Trevelyan wrapped up in fourteen breathing fur blankets.

* * *

><p>One eye open.<p>

That's how she slept that night. Oh, she slept. With some funky breath from her furry, wolf companions wafting into her nose. The earthy, musk from their thick, grey pelts. Their warm fur surrounding her like a blanket. The stone floor was a little uncomfortable but it was something she had grown accustomed to over the years.

Home. Comfort.

"No…" a breathy whisper in the dark.

She shot her unopened eye open.

"No…" it called again.

It was the… Commander's voice. Katja heard him shifting from his corner.

Curious, she lifted her head, while disturbing the breathing blankets, and peered into the darkness where the ex-templar slept. Unable to see him other than a faint silhouette, she produced a small werelight – no bigger than a pebble and emitted a dim glow. Carefully, she crawled on her heels to the sleeping ex-templar.

He was on his back. Legs pushing against the ground. A thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead despite the cold. The shivers. Wrists were close together like they were bound. Hands bent like claws.

"Let me go…" he breathed hoarsely through gritted teeth.

Bad dreams were plaguing him. Nightmarish if he was contorting and speaking physically.

Swells of empathy whirled in Katja's heart.

She raised a finger and concentrated a Calm spell on the appendage. The light radiant in its soft purple glow. Just when she was about to cast it –

Cullen's eyes suddenly opened.

He lunged and screamed at Katja – shoving her to the ground. The action knocking the breath from her. Vice hands wrapping around her throat. A heavy weight on her chest and stomach.

"I hate you Uldred! This is for my friends you Maker-damned abomination!"

His hands squeezed.

Panic educed survival flooded Katja's brain. Her Calm spell forgotten when her vision spotted red and black. Instinctively, lightning struck the templar. Something to get him _off_ her!

It had the desired effect of knocking him away from her.

She spurted coughs to catch her breath. Feeling light headed and dizzy. Heart hammering in her chest. Faintly hearing howls barking along with screams and swearing. Barely catching her breath when she saw that her wolves were attacking the Commander. Trying to bite and claw through his armor. In a rage, he raised his sword –

"Curse your demons Uldred!"

– and lowered it.

In her hyper-awareness, she remembered her Calm spell. Movement slowed as thoughts raced.

Releasing her Calm in a burst of energy that enveloped the cave and surrounding hill in soft purple light.

The templar's sword released from his hands as he fell on his knees to the ground. The wolves stopped their attack. Frozen in their temporary tranquility.

When Katja was more calm herself did she release her spell on her wolves. Sending them to the back of the cave.

Now she was contemplating her hold on the… ex-templar. She could continuously sustain the flow of the spell if needed, but that was impractical. For now though, she will until she could clear her head over what happened.

Slowly, she ran the events through her head.

Before he awoken, it looked like he was tied. The tight wrists, clawed hands. Him breathing out 'no' and 'let me go'. He awakened seeing her casting a spell. His reaction violent. Called her 'Uldred'. Someone he knew? He saw her wolves as demons, abominations. He was fighting this Uldred person that was using demons? Seemed that way since he wanted to choke the life from her. It would explain his will to fight. It was like he did see…

A bucket of ice water fell on her consciousness.

Her face lit up in sudden perception for his reactions.

Nightmare. Mental wounds. Emotional scaring. _Trauma_.

Her heart swelled and flooded in more than one way of understanding. Because of that, she was far from angry. Despite him being a former templar. Despite him almost trying to kill her in his trauma-fueled dream-state. She knew what that kind of hurt was all about.

The Flaming Sword she saw over him cracking dangerously.

Slowly, she released her Calm spell over the Commander.

He blinked a few times. If her facial feature read was right, it looked like he was confused.

"What –" that facial feature changed drastically into something she didn't place. His eyes widened and his mouth ajar.

Jerking upright and backing away.

"Comman –" was all she could word out before he ran out of the cave.

Hastily, she shot up and fallowed the retreating Commander in the soft glow of the rising sun.

"Cullen stop!" she called out.

He didn't stop. Not even when she tripped over a fallen branch hidden in a pile of snow did he stop. The action spraining it. He was fast in that armor of his.

Searching for his Veil-pull she managed to locate him. He was heading in the direction of Haven.

Groaning in exasperation over the last few minutes of her life.

Laying and burying her face in the snow contemplating and cursing the situation. He obviously was highly upset over his impulsive actions. She could only surmise that he was angry and afraid of himself of getting to that point. Feelings that… she had from _back then_. Katja's acute understanding made it impossible to be angry with him. If someone was around from that time in her life, she would have lashed out like that as well.

She didn't know what he was going to do once he got to Haven. But she wasn't going to let him wallow in it. Experience told her that was a horrible idea. He needed reassurance. He needed to know her understanding. He didn't need to know specifics of her hurts nor she his. Even though she still saw the Flaming Sword on his armor, Katja couldn't let another person be alone in gnawing their hurts. Especially when it was made plain. Running is the last thing anyone in that situation should do.

_I will go to him._ She promised. _I will go to him and not be afraid._

Soft clunking of hooves entered her ears. Lifting her snow-powered face from the ground she saw the Commander's horse trotting to her. Neighing softly.

She smiled softly. Turning herself to inspect her ankle, she quickly healed it. Without finessing, she got onto the Commander's horse and headed to Haven.

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N]<strong> Thank you jociekelly, and HayabusaDragonForce for the favs/follows! And guest reviewer Jaime!

I've also went back on my previous chapters and fixed some errors and added some extra detail. I know I skipped the Chantry scene, your not going crazy. I couldn't find a suitable way of transitioning into that without it being awkward. Plus, we get some of inquisitoraXcullen interaction!

I've come up with some art for my story! You know the drill with … ya know, fixing the links so you can use them. Removing the spaces and the parenthesis.

Here's my Inquisitor:

botticella89 . deviantart . (com/) art/Inquisitor-Katja-Trevelyan-508273392

And Cullen (also as my cover):

botticella89 . deviantart . (com/) art/The-Binding-of-Blue-Lace-508281597


	7. Thomas

Chapter 6: Thomas

Haven was ruffling from its sleep when Katja first trotted into the town. Slowly did the inhabits rouse from their slumber. It was challenging to find the Veil-pull of the panicked Commander. Knowing that this is where he ran off to. However, it became obvious the more she trotted into the town. Most of the Veil-pulls were concentrated within the soldier tents, but she could only feel one within the vicinity of the Chantry.

Making her way into the stables, she tied and unsaddled the horse. Telling the male horse to rest and eat while petting it gently on its muscled neck.

A fresh dusting of snow covered Haven, crunching lightly on her leather boots. The air sending cold kisses to her cheeks and warm fog from her breath. By now the sun was beginning to rise – a soft pinkish, yellow glow ghosted around the structures.

Walking briskly to the Chantry, she was able to evade some sleepy-eyed stares. The Chantry itself was warm from several hearth-fires. Only two sisters were at the various alters in different states of prayer. They paid no attention to her or the muffled voices coming from the war room. Logic told her that the Commander was in there – having a heated debate with whoever else was in there with him.

The closer she got to the war room the more she discerned bits of their voices.

"… if you cannot tell me…"

"… would you rather…"

"… I won't make a decision. Where is the Herald?"

Opening the heavy door the voices halted their argument.

It was Cullen and Cassandra. The Commander was pale from his running in the cold – having a similar face on when Katja lifted her Calm spell on him. Cassandra looked disheveled from having a heated argument early in the morning. Although her face looked like it always has been.

"Herald, Trevelyan, it's good to see you. Perhaps you could shed some light as to why the Commander has shown here in his state. I was given orders from his Second that he would be with you during your over-night expedition into the wilds."

The said Commander looked like a cat stepped on his tail.

"That isn't necessary! Our agreement –!"

"I am aware of it Commander, but you refuse to speak as to _why_ and _what_ happened." She stated more calmly than he.

Katja regarded the Commander. Something was going on between these two that she wasn't aware of. Agreement? What _agreement_? Did it have something to do with Cullen's trauma dream-state in the cave? Gears in her brain was going toward that was the case. At the very least, it was related. The Commander was clearly afraid, that she gathered after he ran and even now.

_I will not be afraid._

As she was about to speak, the Seeker saw her neck.

"Where did you get those bruises?" she asked more quietly.

The Commander went even paler.

Katja mentally kicked herself. She forgot about the bruises the Commander, in his trauma-state, left around her neck! _Oops. _

Tension in the room escalated quickly.

"Commander –"

"I –"

"It wasn't his fault!" she blurted out. Half-thinking that the Seeker would annihilate the Commander.

_I will not be afraid._

Although she was feeling mighty uncomfortable under the Seeker's gaze. Sighing heavily and clasping her hands at the whole situation. She wanted Cullen to know that she didn't hold him responsible and what had happened was between them. Not understanding how Cassandra was involved. Or their 'agreement'.

If the Maker existed, she prayed that her social and vocal skills were on par with what she was about to say because if not… shit.

"Don't blame Cullen for what happened. It wasn't totally his fault." She turned to the distant Commander, "You don't need to tell me your hurts, but I… understand it."

Both their eyes widened at her, more so from Cullen.

Katja continued, steeling herself, "I made the mistake of causing a memory-trigger for you. I… understand what those are like. For unknowingly causing one, I am sorry."

Both of them made varying degrees of expressions at her. Cassandra's she couldn't place completely because it was her normal expression with more intensity. Cullen's she detected a great deal of fear but something else as well. He made the move to grab the hilt of his sword but instantly realizing it was missing went to crossing his arms.

Katja made the mental note to go get his fallen sword.

"I should be the one who's asking for your forgiveness." Gently, softly he said, not looking at her, "I didn't want to – you shouldn't be – you should be afraid –"

"Is there something on my shoes? You keep looking at them."

He made eye-contact at her surprising statement.

Sighing, "That's better. I can't try to talk to you when you look at my shoes."

He tried to say something but she cut him off, "Forgiveness is unnecessary because I understand. Memory-triggers are painful themselves along with the traumatic memories they bring up. And if I was afraid," she walked up into his space and poked his armored chest with a stiff finger, "I wouldn't do that. You'll have to do better to scare me."

Katja never broke eye-contact with Cullen. Trying to drive the point home with him. Steel, red eyes trying (but feeling she is failing) to convey her empathy and understanding into his worrying, bronze eyes. Wanting to project into his mind calm acceptance. Unable to physically to do so.

Saying a silent prayer that she succeeded.

He was looking at her. Taking a moment to gauge his reaction, to quantify it: his brow was slightly furrowed – folding the skin around them and his intense bronze eyes; his stubble-spotted jaw would clench; his pale lips pressed thinly; the small vein around his left temple and neck would pulsate; arms tight around himself; and his body was absolutely still.

A picture of a terrified fennec caught in a corner by a mad predator entered her mind.

Until a redness spread across his cheeks.

That was bad! Flushing is bad! Flushing means a rise in anger!

_Is he still afraid? Angry? Of what? Did I use the wrong words? Speak Commander!_

Frustration and anxiety flooded her being, believing she done bad, "I'm sorry! I said the wrong thing! I didn't mean to make you angry!"

Cullen's expression changed drastically and spurted out, "No! I'm not angry – I'm just… surprised."

_Surprised? That's your _surprise_ expression? That's just confusing! I'm no expert on expressions but that was _not_ surprise!_

"Surprise?" doubt in her voice.

Bronze eyes would dart between her, a space behind her, and her neck. His face slack from his earlier expression.

"I would have thought… that you would be angry with _me_." He said quietly.

"Ah, well, I'm not. Before I forget," placing her hands around her neck, she healed away the sore bruises in a soft green luminescence, "See? It's gone now. In more than one way. Okay?"

"I –"

"Hey," she cut him off, "no more of that. It's washed away."

"If it happens again –! I could have –!"

"Being scared isn't going to help Cullen. If you need some time to help yourself, you can have some." It was an offering.

His face slackened, "Your sending me away."

Katja blinked a few times, "Your being thick-headed. I just said I _wasn't_ mad at you, and I meant it. If I was I wouldn't suggest that you could use some time to help yourself. Logically you can't run our forces if you're scared of yourself. At least for today."

Trying to be logical here. Finding a medium. That's the goal here.

"No! I need to keep myself busy. Keeps my mind off of it."

Possible solution? He wouldn't be wallowing in his hurts. Experience told her that was a _bad_ idea. Fully knowing that it takes time to mend hurts. But he still needed time to recover and accept what happened earlier. That's important.

"Tomorrow Commander." Cassandra said. Katja completely forgot that the Seeker was in the room!

"Tomorrow." She agreed.

Cullen closed his eyes and breathed heavily, "Alright."

"If I see you read one report today Commander, I'll use you as target practice." Warned the Seeker with upmost seriousness.

With what Katja knew of her, she didn't doubt her seriousness.

Feeling proud that that her mission was a success, she left the Chantry in high-spirits. Her anxiety quelled. The sun was fully out bathing Haven in a soft light. The residents walking around busily. It was an exciting and slightly terrifying morning for her, but it turned out for the better.

She felt more at ease with the ex-templar Commander.

Trepidation was still there around him and his ex-templar status. However, after her chat with him last night it faded and cracked – present but not predominate. She couldn't detect any sort of overt lies as he was answering her questions. Questions about his templar service. After all, it was the main existence of the majority of his life. Now, he had a new existence. She could… respect that.

A hard rumble emitted from her stomach.

She had a new mission for today, but for right now, she needed some grub.

Grabbing some of the stew from the pub, she headed back to her hut-house. Too lazy to make a suitable fire or light up the candles, she produced a small werelight that lit up the small house. Picking a comfortable spot on her bed, she ate the stew. While she was swirling the contents in her mouth, a thought occurred to her.

Maybe her questions helped to trigger his night-terror.

It made sense, right? That whatever horror the Commander experienced was during his templar service. And she spent a couple of hours _questioning_ him about it. She hoped she as reading too much into it. That regardless he would have had it.

Out-right groaning at the whole situation.

_Running in fucking circles won't help Katja! It's over. And with a little luck, both you and he have grown a little from this experience. Everything will go back to normal tomorrow._

Finishing her breakfast, she was going to make due on her mental note.

She was going to rescue Ser Cullen's sword.

Reasoning with herself that returning it would be beneficial. For him and herself. The old her wouldn't be so generous to retrieve an ex-templar's sword. Or, with anyone's personal belongings. Plus, it went along her reasoning that if she was consenting to being the face of the Inquisition, that people seeing her treating the other team players kindly would be good.

Either way, it was a good learning experience.

It felt real.

Like the short trek that she took to retrieve a widow's late-husband's wedding ring. Or, when she found caches of blankets and food for that town in the Hinderlands. It felt solid. The sort of thing that was possible for her disposition. Or anyone's for that matter. It was her hope though. Even when she has seen, and experienced, the worst in people.

_She_ felt more real.

Even though Katja absolutely hated the H-word and being revered in a silent hell-hole that is reverence. Wanting to wake up from this damn dream. That her glowing scar would fade away. She would wake up in her hidden cave near Witchwood because no one would suspect an apostate mage to hide near 'Witchwood'. Then, start her day hunting and/or fishing. After that, practice her lessons Havardr would instruct her during her dreams. Eat some more. Finally, after a busy day, would take a relaxing swim and subsequently re-apply her hair dye.

Rinse and repeat.

Unless she was feeling mighty mischievous. In that case, she would sneak into a farmer's pantry to steal some hidden sweets. Or, steal a book or two from the more wealthy patrons. Which, she would return.

The good old days.

For now, she changed out of her dusty clothes into fresh travel leathers. Once completed she went to the stables and had a mental-chat with the Commander's horse. Since the Horse-Master has yet to arrive with the Inquisition's horses, and he was a beautiful beast. A large, dark brown Ferelden Fodder with excellent muscle definition and posture; with a sweet, gentle, and obedient disposition; and his hide and hair was well groomed and soft under the touch. The perfect stallion of any willing mare.

Glad to be out of its pen, she climbed onto his back. She was used to riding horses without a saddle. Most of the horses she rode on were the wild ones that she would 'tame' with her mental-connection. Thanks to a certain lion-spirit that taught her that – at the least help her master her inherent ability. With practiced ease, she guided where she wanted the beautiful beast to go.

The Commander's horse trotted along the path she wished for him without complaint.

Katja breathed in the relaxing, cold, mountain air. Calm, acceptance tickled her skin. For those few moments, it was just her, the clunking of hooves, the smell of pine, and a gentle, cold breeze.

The wolves greeted her enthusiastically. After getting off the horse, she petted the wolves and caressed their minds. Not forgetting her mission, she entered the secluded cave and grabbed the Commander's sword.

For a few moments, she held the blade. Peering at it to see if she could extract secrets from the metal. It wasn't a templar blade – she was all too familiar with those.

Old lessons Havardr instructed her on weapons ringing in her head.

It was defiantly a sword with the idea of having a shield as a mate. The blade wide for hacking limbs and a pointed tip for piercing. Ideal for close quarters. It was perfectly sharp – not too much so that it would chip or blunt enough to borderline as a club. The hilt long enough for one hand – the pommel heavy for balance. The scabbard wide enough to protect the hand with a slight curve to direct gore away. The aesthetic design minimal and perfectly functional. A sword with the idea of cutting down foes quickly with minimal finesse.

Katja could admire a blade such as this one – it's simple, functional beauty. It sole function was to end a life or to help protect one.

To her, it was perfect. An excellent smith poured into the make and the owner… the owner lovingly cared for the sword. The discipline to care for the blade with a whetstone, keeping it oiled. Shining bright to deliver the final sleep of death. The sword is extension of the owner. In more ways than one.

Walking out of the cave, gently holding the hilt with both hands. Gears and wheels turning in Katja's mind. The Commander's horse neighed softly at her approach.

The Commander…

He would care for things – his sword, his horse, his army – with little regard for himself.

_"…you give yourself to a life of service… Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen."_

A little more of her uncertainty and the tattooed Flaming Sword chipped away around Cullen.

Making her way back to Haven on the back of the Commander's horse. Going through the routine of placing him in his pen and searching for the Commander's Veil-pull. He certainly wouldn't be within the vicinity of the soldier's – being threatened by Cassandra's ire. No, the only pull she felt was within the Chantry. Having some sense.

Treading carefully of the stares and eyes. Walking fast to avoid them.

The Chantry had a few more parishioners than her last visit early that morning. Few paid attention to her – preferring their solitude of prayer.

She found the Commander prostrate before one of the Andraste idols – alone in his prayer. Whispering softly verses of the Canticle of Trials – if her memory had it right.

Knelling softly beside him – patiently waiting, cradling his sword.

"… but my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion should they set themselves against me…"

Slowly the Commander raised his head, eyes wide when he saw that it was her.

"Herald, ah, Trevelyan, what are you…?" raising himself from being prostrate.

She presented the hilt of his sword, "Thought you might want it back. Clumsy you dropped it." Ghosting a small grin.

"Ah, um, yes, I suppose I did."

He looked away from her baring a metaphorical hole into the base of Andraste's idol. Making no move to take his sword.

"Ya know, if you keep staring you'll eventually make her tilt."

No reaction.

_What kind of sulkiness has the Commander dug himself into?_

Katja looked up at the face of the idol Andraste, giving her a dirty look like it was her doing that put him into his sulky mood.

"What is she to you?" he quietly asked.

Katja raised a questioning brow. The Commander finally looking at her. His expression was something within the 'sad' category, but not much more specific.

"Who?"

"Andraste. You mentioned that you aren't the most devout. What or who is she to you?"

Not really following his line of questions about Andraste, but she answered honestly.

"When I see her all I see is a woman who saw the truth of the world and made a sacrifice. I don't shirk it, because not everyone is willing to sacrifice. I respect it. And she had a lot of bad luck along the way."

The Commander was silent, contemplating her stance, "You don't find it odd you are in a similar situation?"

Katja blanched, "If you start prostrating at my feet –"

"No! I only meant your trials. Don't you think the Maker is testing you? Your faith? Anything?"

Sighing and scratching her invisible-stubble on her cheek, "Trials themselves are a test without Divine intervention."

Silence permeated the pair. Katja felt compelled to speak more, elaborate. Steeling her fears of speaking.

"That spirit, Havardr, he taught me the importance of self-mastery. He would say 'Self-mastery overcomes trials. Only you know yourself, your skills, your experience, your knowledge. Dismiss no trial, for they solidify self-mastery. The doubt-killer of the Self. The Ever-Knower of the Self.' Then, go on through emotions and images of mind-nerve-muscle movement in perfect sync – mind-muscle-memory-knowledge to expand and contract to grasp a quill or a sword.

"Ah, I hope I explained it correctly. Finding words to a spirits projected thoughts or emotions can be… a challenge." She admitted, feeling very small.

The Commander remained silent.

For a panicked minute she thought she made a poor choice. Talking of a spirit to a former templar. Using the wrong words. Or both.

"I think," he said quietly, "I understand what you are trying to say. These dream-terrors…" he closed his eyes and furrowed his brows, "Forgive me. I've troubled you enough with it. It is… my trial as you say."

Extending his hand, gently clasping the exposed hilt of his sword with familiarity. For a brief moment, their finger tips touched. Katja felt electricity run through her fingertips to the base of her skull – sending cool trickles across her skin. Quietly stiffening at the sensation. Releasing her hold on the Commander's sword as he retracted his arm to sheath it.

"Lady Trevelyan, I have a request."

She tilted her head, curious.

"Will you pray with me?"

Internally having a seizure, electrodes misfiring within her brain.

_Me? Why me? I haven't said any of those fucking Chants in years! You do remember that I am not the most devout right?!_

Wishing she could read his thoughts as to why he would ask her.

_Is it a comfort thing? A forgiveness thing? Is he testing me?_

Keeping her neutral expression, she tried so survey his expression. It was a soft without any of those little hints that would indicate aggression-type response.

_Perhaps this will be helpful in some way. The majority of the Inquisition's forces are devout to Andraste and the Maker – including the Commander. Maybe he's using it as a means to help himself overcome his trial and he's asking for assistance?_

The more she thought about it, the more likely it was.

"Alright."

"Thank you." His face kept the 'softness' but was replaced by something harder that she couldn't place. "You don't have to chant if you don't want to. Knowing you are here is enough."

Intertwining his hands and resting his brow on them, closing his eyes he began softly, "Maker, through the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

She mended her voice to the Chant with him, "Though all before me is shadow yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.

"Draw your last breath, my friends, cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be Forgiven." The last she Chanted herself, the Commander looking at her queerly.

"That's the whole Canticle… you remember? But, I thought –"

Abruptly she stood and stiffly walked out of the Chantry. Angry at herself for revealing more than she wanted to.

Hating herself for it. It was just one more thing that separates herself from others. An oddity. A freak.

Born a mage. Cursed by a mark that can close rifts. And her extraordinary sensory memory.

To never be able to forget. It can be pushed aside but never forgotten. Even with something that was so distant in her memory as reciting a Canticle. The heal-mending of time escapes Katja. A gift as much as a curse.

After that, she avoided the Commander. Acutely uncomfortable with unknowingly revealing something of herself. The only time she would interact with him would be during their meetings in the war room.

Leaving Haven for at least another two weeks helped her come to terms with it.

Recruiting The Iron Bull and his Chargers at the Storm Coast and Blackwall from the Hinderlands. While she and her party were in the Hinderlands, they stopped by Redcliffe to meet Grand Enchanter Fiona. Only to discover they have become indentured servants to Tevinter more specifically to magister Alexius.

Fucking great.

The only plus side was that they met Dorian, an former apprentice of the Magister, who was willing to help their cause should they be willing to face him. On top of that, he revealed that the magister is using time magic.

Real fucking great.

Once she returned to Haven. Two well spoken letters, which was defiantly inclined to both parties wanting to kill her. One from Magister Alexius at Redcliffe Castle and the other from Lord Seeker Lucius at Therinfal Redoubt.

Now the only thing left to do is – as a team – to decide what choice to make.

* * *

><p>It was a frustrating and confusing time for the Commander.<p>

Katja surprisingly made herself scarce since her perfect recital of the Canticle of Trials. Coupled with leaving to go meet the Chargers at the Storm Coast and the former Grand Enchanter Fiona in the Hinderlands.

He didn't think she was capable – not without tedious weeks, months if not years of discipline and devotion of memorization. Even he, would need the help of a tome of the Chant to repair faults in his memory. Not thinking it was possible because of her lack of devotion. He told her she didn't need to pray with him, but she did.

Cullen remembered her talk with Cassandra – she spent the majority of her life away from the eyes of the Chantry and templars. Living alone.

_Yet she remembers. How is that possible? If she is devoted to the Faith, why lie about it?_

It seemed unlikely that she would lie in the Commander's eyes. So, the only explanation is that she had an extraordinary memory. He never heard of anyone having that level of memory. Perfect recall years later. What a gift that must be! To know that one's memory will never fail.

_Why would she run though? Why hide?_

That had hurt the Commander.

But, he was even more determined to know the Herald – Trevelyan – Katja. Her damned mask of neutrality kept in place in his presence.

It diminished slightly when she caught up to him when he begged Cassandra to relieve him. Stupefied and ashamed of his unintended violence to Trevelyan.

Cullen was damn scared of himself. The withdrawal coming to the forefront – the ugliness of it – the power of the memories that have been repressed for years. In a single moment was unleashed. In that moment, he almost killed their only means of ending the chaos. His hands wrapping around her small throat. Evident by the bruises.

And she… absolved him. In her way, forgave him.

Katja forgave because she understands the pain. The hurt.

More questions for the Commander.

_What sort of pain has she gone through that she would immediately forgive me for almost killing her? Even if I wasn't myself?_

Knowing that, gave him strength. That with her understanding and subsequent forgiveness, resolved him to preserver through with the lyrium withdrawal. In her words, to achieve self-mastery. The Commander will push through the memories, acknowledge what he had done, and forgive himself. Even the times he believed he didn't deserve it.

_The strength she must carry… The unflinching fortitude. If only I had an ounce of that for myself to fight the affliction._

For a small moment of peace within his tent, persevering through the prickled, clawing pain on his left leg, he sat on his rustic, desk chair, got out his oil and rag and begun to clean his sword, Sigurd. The same one that Katja went out of her way to recover for him.

Calm, cool thoughts tickled the Commander's mind about her, easing the migraine crushing his skull. Protective sweetness balming his muddled mind.

He would need it if they were going to reach a decision with the templars and mages.

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N]<strong> Thank you Vanyali, Ambivalentanachrist, and SweetAssassin for the favs/follows!

I would like to point out that Katja did acquire Vivienne and Sera while hunkering at Val Royeaux. I failed to write so because... well, their my least favorite companions. Vivienne is a pompous bitch and Sera... too fucking confusing and weird for my sensibilities. And I _like_ weird! I'll mention them from this point forward.

And I made some more art for my story!

botticella89 . deviantart . (com/) art/I-Will-Be-Your-Sword-509567569


	8. Wreath of Barbs

Chapter 7: Wreath of Barbs

Endless plains stretched before her. The willowy grass rippling like disturbed water in the wind. A leafless, petrified tree danced from the wind caressing the branches. The trunk wider than three men; tall as a windmill; and its branches yawning breathlessly into the open sky.

At its base rested a lazy armored lion.

Katja smiled at the serene picture. Enjoying their space – their small shelter of peace within the Fade.

These endless plains the dominion of Havardr.

Each tree, speck of grass, the tints of color, breath of wind – an extension of the fierce lion spirit.

Tints of warm pinks and blues danced within her vision.

Conjuring up her own muddled colors of brown and grey.

Concern welling from Havardr.

"You know what goes on Great Lion."

Placing herself beside his massive head, gracing herself limply across his neck. Feeling the coolness of his armor like spring water. His body curled around her – forming a barrier of spirit and metal.

Projecting the goings-on since their last visit onto the surroundings. That last time was during her excursion in the Hinderlands.

Acknowledgement and absoluteness petted her mind.

"I know. I watch." He said. His words vibrated the grass – rippling them with each syllable.

Uncertainty clouded her mind. Twisted winding paths of emotions and choices without a map for guidance. Ghouls and demons hiding betwixt the trees.

Hard as iron, uncompromising, resolution disturbed those thoughts of hers. Blowing them away like leaves in autumn.

"What is true Snow Kitten?" He asked.

Old lessons.

"Only myself." Water flowing into brooks, streams, lakes, seas, oceans. Ever changing to the current but remains water.

"Always remember."

Grey shadows mimicking those she has aquatinted formed. The darkest of the grey forms was a twisted shape of Alexius holding a raven cage with two-legged formations of the mages. The mages slowing and speeding within their constraints of the cage. Demons sprouting like leeks from their backs.

"Not yet." He said. Alexius's raven cage broke and shattered, reversing the constraints on the mages.

The other, with Seeker Lucius holding a his own raven cage made out of red rocks – which looked suspiciously like red lyrium. Inside the cage was the deformed templars with the red lyrium growing from their bodies – drinking and moaning from the forced red poison. But, the Seeker's image was off – his head was replaced with that of a demon's. An envy one.

"Too late." He said.

In the False-Seeker's other hand materialized the actual Seeker's severed head bound with wire and thorn. Instantly she knew.

"Scared-blind-time-intruder-mage and Illusion-envy-destructor-binder-warrior are not danger."

A black as pitch shadow rose from behind the magister and Seeker. Taller than him with glowing red eyes and red thorns protruding from the black mass. It's long, clawed hand ripping the false-magister's and Seeker's head and consumed them.

Havardr growled.

"Diseased-falsifier-breaker-consumer."

The black mass of this _thing_ seized up and cracked into glass. The mass evaporating from the portion of the Fade. It looked eerily similar as the black shadow from the Rift. Part of the Fade that bled out.

A mental image of Havardr's golden eye turning a blue of blindness. A false-image of Havardr becoming corrupted – turning black as pitch and becoming another of that _thing_.

Katja shirked at the image. Solid fear bleeding throughout her being. Concern over her Great Lion's well being over just gaining knowledge of the shadow behind Alexius and the false-Seeker.

Her Great Lion chuckled. "Unnecessary." Warmth and sweetness sent goose prickles on her skin. "I was old when Diseased-falsifier-breaker-consumer was born."

The two paths will lead to the same barer of the chaos in Thedas. That was the common goal. In other words, they were mice in comparison to the shadow thing. Katja and the rest of the team must reach a conclusion with either the templars or mages. But, she concluded, they were fighting either Alexius or the Envy Demon. It wasn't too late for the mages but the templars… perhaps a few could be saved from being feed the red poison – the corrupted lyrium. That pleased her. But, those that had already consumed it were gone. From his information, the majority were already bound.

What didn't please her was that there was a bigger danger behind them.

One more thing that kept her from returning to her old normal. Her home.

Havardr, sensing this, responded by showing a winding path and the way behind was forever closed. Never again to walk. Too see behind, but to never walk. To never return. Her home burned.

Going inside herself. Fighting the truth of his words. Dark, night blues and bright, bloody reds.

"You do not see." He said solemnly. "Remember the precipice."

Petrifying herself to his words. Wanting to go home. Stories always had the so-called 'hero' returning home. But, those were just stories. Katja will wander alone and in silence. Fighting the constraints she unknowingly wrapped around herself. Now she was in the world and can never return to solitude. Hating what she had done. Cursing her fate. Wanting to amputate her hand to remove her stigma.

Hot breath ghosted her pale head. The vision of water still being water despite it's location reappearing. "Forever you will be She-Who-Walks-Alone."

Two visions of her materialized: one with her walking within her woods and the other with her walking with those of the Inquisition. Though, she should rephrase the latter – she walked alone at the front, while the others followed. Walking where she walked. Glowing sun-bright within her solitude while the others were grey, blindly walking her steps. Watching her like moths to a flame.

_O Creator, see me kneel: For I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in places You have blessed, Sing only the words You place in my throat._

The Canticle of Transfigurations was the closest thing to describe the panorama.

Solitude will always be there. Whether in her past or her future. Physically alone or alone within herself.

The latter vision shifted slightly.

The grey mass that she recognized as having the shape of the Commander shifted forward – beside her. He was walking _beside_ her. Following her steps – _anticipating_ them. Knowing her feet. She was still lonely bright and he still a grey follower. His eyes still on her – trusting her steps. His grey hand reached out ever-so gently and clasped her's – her bright glow merging into his hand. The tattoo of the Flaming Sword on his armor melted off like a liquid. The crest of the Inquisition replaced it.

The grey Commander smiled and said, "My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace, touch me with fire that I be cleansed, tell me I have sung Your approval."

Confusion churning loudly within her. More of the Transfigurations?

"He-Who-Walks-Alongside." Havardr explained. A deep radiant purr vibrated from his chest. Sending ripples through the liquid image, until it, at last, evaporated.

The image was of Havardr's doing. Though why, she did not know. He was not making it clear to Katja. A fact that he seemed amused with. Bright blues and pinks dancing within his thoughts.

"Grow Snow Kitten, grow."

Slowly her eyes opened. A decision, hard as iron was made. She would complete it even if it meant that she had to go alone without their aid. Unafraid.

Katja ate her breakfast quickly. Then put on her best armor and leather. Strapping on the thick, leather vest holding the sheaths for her twin daggers along with said weapons. Twisting her hair in a tight braid and wrapping a blue head-band – keeping her bangs and loose strands under control.

Meeting the rest of the party within the war room. She told them her decision.

Though the rest of the team was having a hard time grasping at _how_ to take Redcliffe Castle.

"We don't have the manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the templars!"

Katja knew within herself that the Commander, being a former templar, would want to apprehend his old comrades. The others were just running in circles to her as to how it could be done.

_They are gone_, she wanted to say, but held her tongue. They will all know sooner or later the fate of the templars. _They do not need to know. Especially not him._

She blinked, trying to stay neutral and logical, "Alexius's hold the mages holds the most threat Commander. Not only that, but his ability of using time magic. Plus, wouldn't it seem as though Tevinter is trying to conquer Ferelden? With Redcliffe Castle as its base? That is more concerning overall.

"Whatever the templars are doing with –" she stopped herself, "Seeker Lucius, it is not so great. It is done."

She couldn't afford to lose the ground she had with convincing them. The way is shut. They cannot know. Fully believing that if they did, they would turn against her and she would not have the courage or the skills to convince them to go after the mages instead. She would be alone with facing Alexius. Self-preservation telling her that the best odds for her and everyone was to go together.

Logic told her that they would be apprehensive with going either way without her – seeing as both parties were specifically calling for her attendance. If she would take away some sort of perk with being the 'Herald' is that a splintering of her going along to the mages and them to the templars would be bad as a whole. Not to her person, but them and the Inquisition.

The whole affair reminded her of playing chest. It was… a little exiting to her.

Seeing the pieces of the other player – moves played. Gears whirling as to the best strategy of taking the King. Which pieces needed to be sacrificed to allow the best way of survival? When to be aggressive? Passive? Perhaps even to bluff?

Needing this part of her to bring voice. Though she felt like an ice-cold bitch doing so. The unrelenting logic. Verbal debate was much harder than placing pieces on a board in retrospect.

"That cannot be allowed to stand." Cassandra nodded, "It would provoke war between Tevinter and Ferelden. The Arl is already in Denerum seeking aid from the King – which he would no doubt approve. Another war must be avoided."

"The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It's an obvious trap." Josephine reasoned.

"We should thank him for that Josephine." Katja said, trying to be logical, "That is the first step in evasion and countering."

"Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults." Katja saw his face upturn in the 'anger' category, "If you go in there, you'll die. And we'll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won't allow it." Then, suddenly flipped slightly between 'anger' and 'sad'.

To hell with her ignorance of facial reads!

"There are more than one way to capture that doesn't involve bashing our skulls on stone." Wasn't it obvious to them? "Do you see a knife behind a smooth caress?" She asked, though the team got slightly perturbed when she didn't elaborate.

So, to make it plain, and feeling slightly embarrassed, "I'm already invited in, and I'm sure Alexius and his guards will be focused on me to notice little knives in the dark."

Their faces lit up.

"Focus their attention on Trevelyan while we take out the Tevinters. It's risky, but it could work." Said the Commander.

Was the most outspoken of not going was slowly consenting? Maybe she was getting better with speaking than she thought.

Leliana nodded, "There is a passage. It was used for an escape route for the family. It's too small for our troops, but agents could be sent through."

The door to the war room suddenly burst open.

"Fortunately, you'll have help." Came a suave, bold voice.

The poor agent was right behind him, "This man says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander."

Katja's face lit up, "Oh, good to see you Dorian."

"Of course Lady Trevelyan." He then addressed the group, "Your spies will never get past Alexius's magic without my help. So if you're going after him, I'm coming along."

"Yes, because he wouldn't detect your flair a mile away." Katja smiled mischievously, "Welcome aboard the Inquisition's merry band of misfits. Any information you can assist to this operation's success would be beneficial."

Dorian smiled and bowed. "My pleasure."

Katja saw the Commander frown heavily, "The plan puts you in the most danger. We can't, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the templars if you are unwilling to play the bait."

_That way is shut Commander._ She wanted to tell him.

Instead she said, "I walk into danger the moment I leave my warm bed in the morning. This is just a little more excitement than usual. I'll be sure to put on a good show for Alexius."

Absolutely hating the fact that she only told part of the truth. That she knew more than what was let on. The selfish part of her told her that it was necessary. They needn't know that the templars were under the control of an Envy demon that their minds and bodies were poisoned from red lyrium. They didn't need to know the force behind both parties.

The buried, dark, small part of her heart that burned ragefully eternal, was joyous – smiling and laughing – to hear that the templars were going mad. That they were being fucked with like broken cunts.

The part of her wanting to get the show on the road. Pushing aside Havardr's words – denying them.

She wasn't the 'King' piece.

The meeting was going according to plan, until shit really started.

That piece of shit magister used his time amulet on her and Dorian. Making a mental note to play some stabby-stab with him in the near future. Er, so to speak. So, now she was one year into the future that was real shitty.

This Elder One had taken over the world.

Gears whirled in her brain. Was this 'Elder One' and the black shadow thing the same? It seemed that way. At least they were still in Redcliffe Castle – kind of. Red lyrium growing like fungi on the walls and floors.

Dorian had a possible solution to the whole mess: get Alexius's amulet and transport them back. Mission accepted.

Currently within the bowels of the Castle, the prison, they found the two companions that Katja had tagged along one year prior – The Iron Bull and Varric; along with finding Grand Enchanter Fiona. All of them poisoned from the red lyrium within their cells. They haven't lost their minds thankfully.

What turned her to ice was that this world came to pass without her. That she was absent. That without her to right the wrongs of the world that it would all burn. A world without her wasn't a world worth living in.

Feeling a compression on her skin at the thought. Her mark felt itchy.

Fighting through he cold, dark prison underbelly of the Castle a wet, cracking sound reverberated from the walls. One voice talking the other laughing.

A familiar Veil-pull ghosted her skin. It was foreign and familiar. Filled with anger and pain.

Closer she and her compatriots got to it the more defined the voices became.

"The Elder One demands you tell where the False-Herald went!"

An electric sound and a loud, deep scream vibrated the walls.

A manic laughter, "A little more bite would suffice."

Commander?

It was his, but it was tainted with something else entirely. Holding her daggers more firmly she rushed to the room with the two voices – her compatriots in close toe. Seeking to rescue the Commander with her. Pouring her mana into her right dagger, the magic cut through he heavy, thick door like a knife through butter.

The surprise intrusion had the torturer spin. In a brief second, the chains that held the Commander to the wall, pulled and broke. Said Commander, whipped the broken chains around and smacked harshly against the torturer. Sending him flying in a broken heap to the adjacent wall. Cullen rushed to the torturer with blinding speed, pulled the cuffs from his wrists off with inhuman strength in the process, and proceeded to punch and bash the torturers skull into a bloody mess. The impact heavily damaged the wall and the armor the unfortunate torturer wore.

Once finished, did the Commander turn to assess the would-be rescuers.

A sick, nauseating feeling filled her gut.

He was saturated with red lyrium.

The red crystals poked from his head and back like fungi would to insects. Seemingly like a demented red crown. His remaining hair on top of his head was death-white, long and curled wildly. The scar on his lip nearly split his face asymmetrically up to his hair-line like a deformed cat-lip. The angry-red glow from the lyrium blazed through the scar and when he opened his mouth. On the same side, his eye was missing, a lyrium fissure growing in its place. His skin was a pale grey and cracking like an old oil painting. Patches of the crystallized red lyrium blotted his skin like a the black plague, the heaviest on the tops of his hands and feet and shoulders – protruding like angry thorns.

The thick blood from the dead torturer splattered on his muscled, naked torso; heavy goblets on his hands, lazily trickling down. Garbed in only his leather pants, which were filthy and heavily stained. Small thorny lyrium spikes protruded his legs.

What made her freeze in fear was the look the Commander had in his one eye. Bright glowing red, blazing like a predator would prey.

Blind madness. Rage.

Her compatriots slowly stepped out of the room. Too damn scared.

Burning her fear, Katja sheathed her daggers, and very slowly approached the Commander. Doubting that if she startled him that his ire would let her live. She would be fucked and the whole world fucked. She would be another bloody pool on the ground.

Cocking his head at her approach.

Now within his arm's reach, or the 'kill parameter' as she would call it. Having a stare-down with the crazed Commander.

Her skin felt like little claws were scratching her from the proximity of such a high-concentration of red lyrium. Toughing it out, standing still.

Cullen raised his hands and placed them on the sides of her face. They were stupid hot, the red crystals clicking from his hand movement. Smelling the copper from the blood of the dead torturer – dried and flaking on her skin.

His face softened as he lowered it – pressing their foreheads together.

Her head pounding as confusion raced in her mind at this type of tenderness.

"They all believed you were dead," he said softly, an underlining metallic sound to his voice, "I never let you go. I would see you when I would hear the song – pulling me away from its madness. I don't care how this came to pass, but I will follow. Lead me Katja."

_He-Who-Walks-Alongside._ The words ringing in her mind.

Clutching her hands together, clearing her throat from the sudden dryness, "Dorian thinks he can reverse what Alexius has done. Sending us back; stopping this from happening."

"Done. I will follow to the end Katja." He was absolute, "But, their's something I want to do. I fear I may never have another chance."

She raised her eyebrow. Suddenly both were raised and she was petrified frozen as his lips touched hers. Cullen was _kissing_ her.

Unsure as to it was the act itself or the lyrium that made her legs want to give out.

The pressure of his lips released. Blinking a few times from her stupor.

"I'm sorry." He said gently, softly, "That was… um… really nice." A slight redness ghosting his unmarred cheek. His expression so soft like baby skin.

Her brain ceased to function. After a few stalled attempts, it restarted. Like a trebuchet that wouldn't launch but suddenly sprang to life.

"I, ah… glad you… liked it?" Strange tingles rippling under her skin. A small heat pooling at her neither region. It frightened her.

"Thank you. I don't regret it."

Katja felt a little awkward around him from then on. Going through the Castle, finding the enchanted keys to open Alexius's hide-away. He would stay close to her. His presence always searching for danger. When it did arrive, whether it was soldiers or darkspawn, he was the first to attack. Beating them with his inhuman strength. The quickness and ferocity were high in the violence scale. Bones breaking, armor tearing like paper. The opposite those same hands had when they held her.

Burying the feelings – she'll deal with it later.

Facing Alexius was an easy task. Dorian took the enchanted time amulet – the same one that led them here to begin with – and examined it. He confirmed that he could make it work, reverse them back.

That was before an army of darkspawn banged on the front door. A loud roar accompanying it.

Varric and Bull on the front line of that – trying to hold them off, buying them some time.

The ferocious Commander stayed within the room with them. Keeping guard.

Violently, the chamber doors came off their hinges. The bodies of Varric and Bull being trampled by darkspawn. Without hesitation, Cullen rushed to meet them.

"Cullen!" she cried out to him.

"Don't move Trevelyan! I've almost got it!" shouted Dorian.

When she looked back at the Commander, he had two swords within his body, but he still kept going. A pile of darkspawn dead. Until a sneaky one came behind him, overwhelmed him, and slit his throat. It's brethren burying their rusty, broken swords into his body. And he fell. His red, crystallized blood soaking the marble, tiled ground.

Then it was light.

Eyes shifting like a curtain was revealed. She was back. Varric and Bull were here – alive. All was right with the world – to a point.

Turning slowly to face the magister. A look of deadly rage welled within her expression, poised like a predator. The room deadly quiet. Target locked on. A single focused intensity.

"Kitten…" Ignore.

"Boss." Unimportant.

"Lady Trevelyan." Irrelevant.

Hearing faint footsteps behind her, sliding it out of her mind. She wanted to set him on fire. Kill. Burn. Stab. Bleed. Die. Her small inner self was laughing hysterically.

Her target went on his knees. Making it easy, knowing its fate. Good.

"Trevelyan!" a clear deep voice broke her kill instinct. Stopping her before muscles expanded for the kill.

Turning her head slowly to the voice that broke her reverie.

Commander. The one without the taint of the red lyrium. Alive.

"Trevelyan, we've secured the Castle. The mages have laid down their staffs." He reported, oblivious as to the last couple hours of her life – the alternate. Only a moment within this time.

Furrowing his blond brows in confusion.

Closing her eyes, forcing her instinct to the bottom of her conscious. Breathing it out heavily. When she opened her eyes, it wasn't so dark to her. Giving the frightened magister her attention of a different sort.

"You will answer Alexius." She said. Then, quickly, casting a Sleep spell on him. Hunching over in his induced sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N]<strong> Thank you blueRAYE13, KirbyCap and Auroratorialus for the favs/follows! Also, guest reviewer Rae. I wish more folks would tell me when I make embarrassing errors like that. I revise chapters several times but I don't always succeed with finding those mistakes.

As a side note and trivia, on my timeline rough draft I have a note about Red Cullen and it states 'fuck up Cullen with red lyrium' with a smiley face by it. I did it with love though. :3 With some serious sadism. In a way, he is grotesquely handsome – I'd tap that. But, on a more happier note, they kissed‼ Although, future/past Cullen won't know. Katja won't be able to have a proper sit-down with her feelings on Cullen for the next couple of chapters, because well, if you played the game you know what's comin' up. Bitches it get real up in here.

Wanna see Red Lyrium Cullen?

botticella89 . deviantart . (com/) art/Red-Cullen-510655931


	9. Vermilion

Chapter 8: Vermilion

The Commander frowned. Though 'frowning' would be minuscule to the mood he was in.

Trevelyan debriefed them, with Dorian's testimony, over what happened within the Castle. With as few sentences and deviations as she recanted the story of a world in her absence. That this 'Elder One' turned the world into chaos – the source of the Breach. The Assassination of Empress Celene. A demon army. Without her…

Not even wanting to picture himself being, once again, captured and tortured. Being turned into a living conduit of red lyrium. Surprising to hear that he remained unbroken from the torture and the mad song of the lyrium. He couldn't imagine going through that and remain a beacon of fortitude and resilience. But he did. He did and he ultimately sacrificed himself at the end so that she could return here; in this time.

That part at least, was easy to swallow. Sacrificing something of himself was within his realm of traits. Especially for the greater good. Trading his life for the possibility of the alternate could be reversed? The choice would have been easy. A small, trifle price.

What got his blood boiling was her suggestion of absolving the mages into the Inquisition. The very same ones who were responsible for the war!

"If we were to punish them Commander, we might as well punish their templar counterparts – which would include the ones who have already joined the Inquisition. Are they not also responsible?" She point-based told him, "Fiona did what she believed was the best option in a no-win situation to protect her charges. It was under Alexius's orders that the Arl and most of the population in Redcliffe were expelled. It was no longer under Fiona's or any of the subjugated mages what transpired.

"Let it lie down. With the alternative, I'd say the situation could have been far worse. Fiona has agreed to still be over to the mages but to submit to the Inquisition's authority. Just as the templars who have freely joined us have. This way, _we_ watch them and they not each other."

Slowly, did the other leaders consent to her solution. Even himself – though begrudgingly. Her logical course of action.

It was too soon to say whether it was the right decision for the right reason.

Even though he felt a nagging voice in the back of his mind say that she _knew_ something the other's didn't. What it was he could not say. It was the same feeling when she convinced them to go to Redcliffe instead of Therinfall Redoubt. She would list reasons that it was the sound decision, but never _why_. Somehow, the way she placed those reasons, would overrule the _why_.

Part of him wanted to retrieve his former comrades. That was the problem and part of the reason he consented: they were his _former_ comrades. Still holding them in esteem and respect. However needed to distance his old life from his current status.

Trevelyan's simple, logical, neutral thinking would poke holes into their own logic and reasons. She would listen, and even would agree with points that were made. However, she would ultimately give an unyielding stance on matters. It was solid decision-making, and none of them could poke holes into it. He would see, although later after much consideration, the truth of her words. Seeing that he was partially biased on previous experience with both templars and mages. He would have thought she was being biased with choosing mages and absolving them, but later dismissed it. Trevelyan wasn't considering either party 'off the hook' so to speak.

Cullen could admire that trait of Trevelyan. She would see decisions logically and stand by it even when others disagreed or even admit herself her dislike of it. Even her nervousness when speaking it – evident of his observation of her clasping hands.

It made her seem much more real to the Commander.

That troubled him.

The Commander wasn't a dullard, a fool, or unschooled of himself to know his growing infatuation with her. Often cursing and mentally reprimanding himself. _That_ made him feel a fool.

_It isn't… my place to love her. To have feelings for her._

Keeping those feelings locked away within his heart like so many others.

Coupled with those troubling thoughts were the continuing pains of his lyrium withdrawal. His head pounded demandingly and his left shoulder ached through the bone.

It was like that all the way back to Haven. They allowed themselves a week's respite before their march on to the Breach with the hope of closing it. There were plenty to do during that week. Sending scouts ahead to make sure the path to the ruined Temple was clear. Setting a larger makeshift camp for the mages – that was on the opposite side of the templar's. Small scuffles from both parties, but nothing that Knight-Commander Aedelric or Grand Enchanter Fiona couldn't manage. Along with his other Commander duties.

He didn't see her during that time. However, he received reports from Cassandra and the other members of the council of her goings on. It wasn't until they were actually at the Breach that he saw her again.

Trevelyan was very nervous – if the constant clenching and clasping of her hands were of any indication.

It was agreed beforehand the rebel mages along with the templars that have joined be present. Her reasoning is that "I don't want to be unconscious for another three days because we didn't have that one templar or mage to help power my mark. Plus, it would be helpful just in case shit does go south."

No dispute there.

Both groups along with regular foot soldiers within their separate sections of the ruined Temple. Her companions behind her. The three mages – Solas, Dorian and Vivienne – willing to assist with lending their strength. Holding their breath, waiting for their command.

A strange thought occurred to him, _Funny that only two months prior the same gathering occurred. All because a powerful woman asked them to work together._

Praying that a similar result didn't occur.

"Okay, here we go. Ready yourselves!" She shouted before pointing her scared palm to the Breach.

The green-yellow waves of light flowed from her hand, but it was minuscule when the sudden influx of energy once the templars and mages joined forth. Trevelyan cried out from its force, but maintained the stream. Her right hand holding her left arm steady from the shaking. Her legs becoming unsteady.

Alarm bells ringing in his head when he saw blisters and welts appear on Trevelyan's left arm. Thin trickles of blood running from the wounds.

"I got it!" She cried through gritted teeth. Her normally neutral face crunched in pain. Small tears down her cheeks.

A moment later, the light ceased. Trevelyan falling backwards. The Commander was close enough to catch her before her fall. Helping her set up on her shaking legs. Out of breath, she said "Thank you." Her scared palm on his shoulder – feeling the scorching heat through his armor. The burns and welts grotesque. The sickly green light from her palm brighter than usual.

He was about to call for one of the mages to heal her before thunder cracked causing a whip-lash in the air. The atmosphere seemed to shift. Green sparks coming out of the Breach.

Dread filled his gut.

He saw Trevelyan's eyes widen before grabbing one of her daggers.

"Get ready!" Was all she could say before balls of light spat out of the Breach. Demons slithering out of the muck.

Two steps ahead, unsheathing Sigurd and dawning his shield, he charged forward.

The slaughter reminded him too much those first few days after the Conclaves destruction. The waves of demons seemed to stretch on. Not far into the fray, he noticed that Trevelyan only using one of her daggers, her other arm hanging limply, the one with her mark. Her movements slow from her usual speed and grace. Spells small. Her tight braid having been unwound causing her hair to flail wildly. Quickly fighting to her side – protecting her. Instantly realizing the toll of her exertion of closing the Breach left her vulnerable.

Seemingly at the same time, he noticed Knight-Commander Aedelric within their small throng. Recognizing his full armor of a Knight-Commander. Keeping close to her as well.

Green lights and clanking filled his senses. His battle high raging within his limbs. Soon becoming action and reaction. Movements attuned and trained for. His strikes fast and strong where as the demons low and lazy.

As the demons dwindled, he felt his second wave of energy pool from his muscles. The thrill and hot blood coursing his veins. Primal thoughts of his vanquished enemies added vigor to his aching limbs.

Noticing that she was being overwhelmed by a Rage demon, rushing to her side. Using his shield to push her away from an impending attack. It costed him though.

Too slow to raise his sword or pull his shield. The position of pushing her out of harms way left him vulnerable. The Rage demons hot, molten claws stabbed him through his armor and out his belly.

Copper-tasting blood filled his mouth. Head swimming. No longer feeling pain from the fried nerves. Sounds becoming muted. The lights becoming dim.

_I'm going to die._

A miniscule sensation of ice cold passed by his skin and the heat vanished. Falling. Hard earth.

Eyes closing.

A single point of white and green sparked, in front of it formed the image of a beautiful woman. Bright silver-white hair cascading down in light curls. Compassionate, burning red eyes. Full, pinkish lips that he ached to kiss. Her face was so kind. Cupping her hands together, a bright, warm, green fire ignited. She was so beautiful – his heart swelling with love and reverence. The wild smell of pine and dewy grass wafted into his nose. It smelt like his home in Ferelden. Home.

_Andraste… you have come for me. Take me within your arms. Cleanse me with your fire._

Warm, liquid, green lights danced his mind. Feeling his body floating, aching to her. Burning his sins and transgressions. Before switching to black.

Blue needles. Poking. Prodding.

"Won't you please?" She would call out. Soothing. Tempting.

Chants and prayers cycling through his head. His feelings of calmness and admiration flipping to dread and panic.

_Andraste, where have you gone?_

"Captain we have the mages secure. We must kill them. There are blood mages among them!"

The cries. The screams. The blood on his hands. His consent.

Tearing, ripping blue barbs held him down. Digging angrily into his flesh. Forcing his eyes open.

A ghost of himself came forth. His eyes angrily blazing. His old, templar armor shining brilliantly. The ghost self grabbed hold of a forming arm in the nothingness. The sudden jerk formed the body of a beautiful woman with dark hair and glowing lyrium-blue eyes that was dressed in only a shear gown.

He… knew her.

"Cullen, don't go. I'm sorry I left you. Please take me."

His ghost self roughly bent her over. Her face slapping on Cullen's bare chest. Soft hands clasping, digging into his shoulders. Her face in nervousness as his ghost ripped the shear gown away exposing her moist core. In a flurry of movement his ghost thrusted into her.

Her face in pain if it weren't for the moans and cries of ecstasy. Skin thrusting against skin. Wet, moist sounds from each contact. The strong smell of sex.

With every fiber of his being, Cullen fought against the images. Half-knowing that they weren't true. His body was betraying him in the worst of ways.

Old loves. Old, unrequited loves burned in heart.

She then acknowledged him. Her glowing lyrium-blue eyes all the brighter and she smiled.

"Do you get nervous? Perversed? When you see her it's worse." **[*]**

In one final cry she came … with a sword through her mouth.

The blood dripping on Cullen's face and eyes. Blinding him. Enveloping him in his own darkness.

The ground loosened and he was falling.

Cullen screamed his determination to defeat the desires. They were twists of his self.

"Ah… you have a growing desire?" An echoy, feminine voice called from the darkness, "More than your other lost loves?"

A hard floor greeted him. Knocking the wind from his lungs – bruising his legs and back. He attempted to stand while blinking out the blood that had dripped onto his eyes.

In his blurry vision he recognized it as the main hall of the Chantry at Haven. Small pews lined the walls and the front of the statues.

She was sitting on one.

"Trevelyan…" He whispered.

Turning her head to face the sound of his voice. She smiled brightly while getting up from the pew and ran to him. Her silver tresses flowing behind her in a snowy banner. Her ruby eyes glowing in joy. The candles casted an ethereal glow around her – singing to her beauty.

The pressure in his chest tightened – his voice catching.

Kneeling beside him, "Ah! Cullen, it's good to see you. You've arrived in time! I was starting to think you have forgotten about that kiss you promised me."

His mind in a bind from his earlier experience only managed to stutter, "W-what?"

White brows furled in worry, "Are you okay Cullen? You never forgot about our little rendezvous."

Backing away from Katja – certain that this was still a dream. He hadn't started a relationship with her. Did he?

"That's okay if you forgot. We've been busy here at Haven the last few days. I didn't think we'd get a little privacy." She dismissed.

"This … this isn't real." He breathed.

"Andrate's sweet teats," she sighed, "Yes it's real Cullen. And are you sure you are okay? You did take a nasty fall yesterday. But, knowing you, you just shrugged it off and went about your duties. If your experiencing amnesia we should talk to Solas."

This was… too surreal.

"This is a dream…"

"No it's not." She gently grabbed his gloved, armored hand – when did he have armor on? Why does his head hurt? – and placed it on her cheek, "See? I feel real right? I'm me, right?"

The pressure on his head intensified, making his body feel light.

She was warm.

"Your – your warm." He whispered.

"Told you. Would I feel warm if this was a dream? Sometimes it feels like it, but that's just because you make me happy." She smiled and blushed prettily.

Bronze eyes began to drift. Tingles danced across his skin.

She wrapped her arms around him.

"All you had to do was say 'yes' Cullen. And I let you in. Will you say 'yes' again for me?"

Wanting to. He wanted to so badly. His voice caught on the word. The incredible sensation of her arms around him. The wild pine and dewy grass smell from her hair and skin.

He could feel himself become erect from desire.

Rosy lips chuckled, "Someone knows how to say 'yes'."

Cullen fell a little more.

"Well then, looks like I'm gonna have to work for it huh?" She whispered in his ear. Sending delicious shivers down his spine. He felt warmth across his cheeks.

With nimble fingers, she clasped his right hand and oh-so-slowly raised it – while tickling the tips across her hips and torso – and had it cup her full breast. It molded around the fullness and feeling the nipple budding in his hand through the subtle cloth. Was she always clothed?

Lungs catching on his breath.

Katja nipped lightly on his chin. Her soft mouth warm and inviting. Sensual and coy.

Blue tendrils began to tighten around his feet.

He heard the clasps on her tunic loosen and the garment fell to the floor unceremoniously exposing her naked torso.

Katja raised his right hand to her full mouth and used her lips and teeth to pull off his leather glove. It went with her leather tunic on the floor. The guided hand went back to her breast. The flesh soft, warm, precious, perfect. Without prompt, he placed his other hand on the opposite breast.

Ruby red eyes smiled invitingly.

Sensual lips went back to kissing his cheeks and jaw. Gaining ground closer to his lips.

He couldn't protest. And he didn't want to.

The room began to darken. Lace barbs of blue encircling his legs. Climbing ever higher.

"All you have to do is say 'yes' my lion." Whispering in his ear.

He was about to when a faint voice called out to him, "He doesn't need to say 'yes' to you ass-bag!"

The veil of his hallucination lifted and he saw the truth.

Cullen was in the Fade and a Desire demon was clutching him with long, bony fingers. It's mouth wide with long, sharp teeth and covered a third of its face. It's beady eyes black. Hair inky black and limp. Skin pale and lifeless.

Bronze eyes widened in horror as he moved to retract from the demon. He couldn't move!

The Desire demon scream pierced his ears when it realized the intruder.

In a quick movement, a swirl of light came between him and the demon. The light severing the demon's long, claw-like hands from his skin. The demon's screeching cry reverberated in the space of the Fade.

"He's mine!" The demon proclaimed.

"The hell he is!"

The Commander saw his savior. With her pale, snow hair and fiery red eyes and ethereal twin blades.

In a small horror, he realized that she must have seen him falling for the Desire demon's wiles. While it was cloaked in her form. Him touching… becoming… _Oh Maker!_

_She saw! She saw and she _knows_!_

In his silent horror, she vanquished the Desire demon with a slice of her ethereal blades.

The ground became unstable. Cullen was able to move then, the hold the demon managed on him faded. Katja rushed to him, her swords dissipated. Her face filled with dread. Small, strong arms wrapped around him like a vice. The touch sending sensations throughout his body.

"Hold on Cullen!" She shouted.

With that the ground disappeared, and they were falling. Out of instinct he held on to her.

Fearlessness hard as stone on her face. Unafraid. While he was terrified… if he died…

He prayed hard.

Katja closed her eyes. The Fade began to shift. Instantaneously yellow ribbon-like tendrils popped out of the nothingness and envelope them. Holding them tightly together. Halting their decent into the Void. They bounced up and down from residual force of falling for a long moment before halting in the empty space.

His heart beating furiously in his chest, making his ears throb.

For a moment they stayed still. The near-death experience for the Commander subsided. For a brief moment, he dared enjoy the thought of having Katja close to him. His muscled arms around her curved waist. Fingers daring to dig into the cloth that would touch her skin. Her warm breath on his neck. The pine and dew grass smell in her silver-white hair. Her soft, strong hands wrapped around his naked back –

_Maker's Breath I'm naked!_

Self-conscious heat flooding his cheeks. Try as he could, despite the proximity, to maintain some decency.

"Well, that was fun." It was meant to lighten his situation, but it did nothing for his lingering embarrassment and shame.

She pulled her head out from the crook of his neck to look him in the eye. He couldn't properly look at her without giving away his feelings or have his body betray him.

"I… Cullen…"

He didn't want to see the possible look of disappointment on her face. Of her seeing his weakness. His inappropriate behavior he had regarding her.

"Thank you Cullen. For saving me. You were very brave."

A moment passed before she spoke again, "I managed to heal your wounds Cullen. Was it okay that I used magic on you?"

He couldn't speak, afraid his voice would betray him as well.

"I'm sorry if you didn't. but, it would have been too late to get you to a healer. You were dying, Cullen."

"It's not that." He said softly, daring to speak. "I should be the one who's sorry. I didn't intended for you to get involved in… this."

For a moment she was silent. The silence didn't help his shame or embarrassment one bit.

She sighed, "It's alright Cullen. I think were even now." She chuckled, but it was a forced one. "Since were no longer in danger. You can try to wake up."

"Oh, right."

Trouble was, he didn't want to wake up. He would go back to being the Commander and she… the Herald. That invisible veil between them. His duty began to ring in his head in earnest – reminding him of his vows.

_I will not give less… Even if it means I must, once again, sacrifice._

Keeping his longing in his heart, he began to awaken out of the Fade. Katja's sweet touch leaving tingles on his skin.

When he opened his eyes the lighting was dim. He breathed a soft sigh. He recognized the brown of the tent and a flicker of a candle. A soft blanket covered his half-naked body. Cassandra was standing by the tent entrance – anxiety plastered on her face. The elf, Solas, sat in a small stool next to his cot – face expressionless. He saw Katja cross-legged in the middle of the tent.

He blinked his bronze eyes away from her as she roused from their shared Fade trip. She blinked awake and sat up. Ruby eyes gazing at him, keeping their usual neutrality.

Unable to look at her after she saw him. What his desire is.

He started to lift himself out of the cot –

"Commander, lay back down. You must rest from your ordeal." Solas instructed not unkindly.

He made a move to protest, but Cassandra stopped him, "That's an order Commander. Do so willingly or we will strap you down."

He begrudgingly obeyed.

"At least tell me how the battle went."

He was emotionally and mental sore from his Fade trip. He was in no mood to be listless about in bed. Wanting something to do to prove that he was fine. Perhaps to make Katja – the Herald – forget ever seeing his weakness. True to the Herald's word, his physical wounds were healed. The lack of scaring and linens were a testament to her healing capabilities.

His hands began to shake. Both from the mental wounds and the resuming of his withdrawal.

Now wasn't a good time for an episode for the Commander.

Cassandra gave him one of her looks, but replied, "It was a success Commander. You can rest easy. We'll be returning back to Haven in the morrow once we finish here. _Until then_, you will rest. If it weren't for Trevelyan, you would either be dead or possessed."

He was about to protest, when she cut him off, "Leliana and myself will take care of your duties until then Commander."

Sighing heavily that boarder-lined on groaning. Cullen reasoned that an overnight respite wouldn't hurt. Although it would leave him open to his memories and drifting thoughts. A reason he liked to stay busy – and awake.

"Alright Cassandra." There would be no point in arguing with her.

"Good, and I would hope you don't need someone to watch you."

"No."

"Good. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

The brusque woman left the tent.

"And if you need any medical treatment, I'm available to help." The elf nodded and left him.

Leaving him alone with…

He couldn't.

"Cullen…"

The Commander heard Trevelyan step closer, but he was surprised that she sat on an vacant spot on his cot. The proximity sending heat throughout his body, threatening him to blushing. He had to look at her.

It wasn't as he feared. She had a look of calm neutralness, but maybe it was the lighting of the candle that he detected a hint of softness in her reddish eyes. His heart ached with longing.

She inched her face closer to his.

Waves of panic seized the Commander that rendered him paralyzed.

_Is she… surely she isn't about to…_

The closer her oval face got to his the more certain he was. His bronze eyes locked with her ruby ones. He couldn't look away. Trevelyan's left hand clasped gently on his folded hands. Soft, warm, delicate. Feeling the bumps of calluses.

They stopped shaking. He was still.

_Maybe… just once… Just this once Maker…_

Their foreheads and the tips of their noses touched. Cullen's nerves were on fire for a different reason. Heart beating frantically. Her gaze unwavering. Part of her snow-white hair cascaded down one side of his face. The smell of pine needles wafted gingerly within his nose. The delicate tendrils tickling his skin.

Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat.

Gently, softly she said, "I see you."

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N]<strong> A thank you to my new follower dekicobee!

I would like to that Goku and his kai-o-ken kamehameha against Vegeta for inspiration on the Breach closing.

**[*]** A tip of the hat to a certain metal band. :) Well, technically _all_ the chapters are odes to perspective songs. But this one more so. As a factoid, this was one of my first chapters I actually wrote and the whole premise of the story is based on the song.


	10. Prisonic Fairytale

Chapter 9 : Prisonic Fairytale

Katja was a fool. She spent so much time seeing the Flaming Sword plastered on Cullen. She didn't see. She didn't see _him_. The man. A man that was desperately trying to gain control of his life. Who wanted to do the right thing and atone. A man with integrity and loyalty. So much so that he left the Order to keep himself when it failed in its own principals. It had begun to crumble the more time she spent the Commander, though it remained and with it her suspicions – her distrust. Even when he had proven over and over.

All it took was him pushing her out of the way from the Rage demons claws.

She was too slow to dodge, but Cullen… he took it for her.

What she saw in the Fade. It was a twisted perversion of his inner desires, but it was a desire non-the-less. Katja didn't see what form the demon took on, but surmised that it was strong enough that the Commander was falling for it.

If she hadn't caught him in time, they would be short a Commander.

She had tried ruthlessly to find him. Countless times in her past to detect the Veil-pull of templars thanks to their obsessive intake of lyrium. But with him, it was distant, even in the Fade where everything was amplified.

Now that her face was pressed on his and her hands clasped on his shaking palms, she understood why.

Cullen wasn't taking the lyrium. The one absolute quality of a templar and he was refusing to oblige those demands. Looking back, she felt a diminish of his Veil-pull from the moment they meet but didn't understand why. She didn't see his trembles or uneasy manner as a result of the withdrawal.

Cullen, the Commander, was willing to undergo the pain of lyrium withdrawal for the sake of atonement and fulfilling whatever vows he took for the Inquisition.

With one final push, the Flaming Sword diminished – crumbling away.

_I see you._

With her renewed sight, she was able to admit to something she had been fighting. She… _liked_ him.

At this point it was too soon to gauge whether or not it was anything other than sexual. She could admit that he was handsome. His jaw was strong with the aid of stubble of late nights; his mouth a pleasing shape when he grinned crookedly on the side of his thin scar; a strong, straight nose; bronze eyes shined from those grins or turned to metal in seriousness; wavy, thick hair the color of harvest wheat.

He was… very handsome.

Guiltily admitting to herself as she filed away his physical traits when his armor and shirt were removed. His masculinity and hard physical training evident with every muscular crease when he moved and breathed. Also, the scars that were hidden from the armor. Scars that looked similar to burns. The most predominate was the patch the size of a hand on Cullen's left shoulder. Smaller, sporadic blots on his back. A wild guess as to how he received those. Close enough to smell him. Which he smelt like leather, sword oil, sweat, and a hint of dried thyme. Liking it.

Let's not forget his admirable personality qualities.

Again, she said softly, "I see you."

The Commander's eyes were wide. Taking a guess it was due to her proximity. She was quite literally in his face. Probably thinking her breath was funky or she was smelly from the battle at the Breach. Which was more than likely true. She did have demon guts and blood on her. Very honestly not caring how or what she smelt like, but even she had her limits of her own personal odor. Demon blood and guts were not on her forte of personal fragrances.

Lifting her lumpy head away from the Commanders. Giving him back his personal space.

Redness ghosted his cheeks.

_Oh shit I made him angry‼_

Though that was the only indication that he was angry. His brows weren't furrowed, no frown, or tight fists. Greatly becoming confused because some of the cues were that of 'surprise' but the flushing was reminiscing of 'anger'. What emotion would have a mixture of 'surprise' and 'anger'?

"I, ah, see you too." The Commander softly whispered.

He most certainly didn't sound an ounce angry.

_Maybe flushing means something else?_ With her lack of social skills it was possible. _He did admit once after I caught him flushing that he was 'surprised'. _Though she doubted that's what it was.

Feeling rather stupid, she let it lie. The Commander was alive and well and that was what mattered.

"I have to ask: How is your hand? It was burned the last I saw it." He queried.

Guessing that he was concerned, she answered, "It's alright Commander." Lifting the hand in question so that he could see it, the bright green glow casting a soft luminescence. Feeling the lingering heat from touching his still hands. "It actually healed by itself within an hour after all those demons were vanquished. I'm guessing it's the mark's influence. I am… glad you were there. I couldn't lift or feel my arm after my attempt at closing the Breach." Trying to explain to him the phenomena.

He looked away, "That is… good. At least you won't need any healing or re-train your arm."

She nodded.

"So, do you know why those demons came out of the Breach?" He inquired.

Humming in thought, she replied, "I don't know. Perhaps it was the Breach's death-throws or those demon's last ditch effort of crossing over. Either way, it is done. Solas says the heavens are scared but calm. I'm inclining on agreeing. The Veil doesn't feel so thin as it once was."

At least, that part is done. Thoughts drifting back to that shadow _thing_ and it's connection to the causation of the Breach. The whole fuck up of her life.

"So, I'll… leave you to your rest Commander. Do you need anything? Water? Food?" She asked.

"I, ah, no. Thank you."

Katja nodded and exited the tent.

In her walk, almost everyone was either bowing or fisting their chests. The more it was done in her presence the more accustomed to her blocking the action. It still troubled her though. Doubting that it will ever ease into her mind.

She had a small mission. Walking through the templar camp, feeling the familiar stares. Inputting in each face. Finding the templar she was looking for. He was a huge, big guy – the templar armor he wore only added to his imposing height. Armor she recognized as the regalia of a Knight-Commander. His helmet obscuring most of his face, but she recognized it regardless. Tuffs of his thick, pale blond beard coming out. Dark blue eyes looking at her.

The templar reminded her of a Great Bear.

Little echoes of her memories rang softly in her head.

_"I love you Little Great Bear. I wish you weren't going away. Promise you'll write please?"_

_"I promise Big Cat. The Order doesn't prohibit writing to our wild, runt sisters. I love you too."_

"Herald." He fisted his chest, voice loud and deep. Ending the happy-sad memory.

Forcing the memory away. _It was a thousand years ago, _she said to herself_, and a million miles away. It might as well have been another girl that experienced it._

Clasping her hands. Wondering why she was near a templar willingly. Dismissing the feelings, she was above that – slowly gaining ground on herself.

Clearing her throat. "I've come to thank you Ser. For, um, helping me. And give my thanks to the other templars, too. For the Breach."

For a moment the Knight-Commander was silent. His face was hard as iron.

He fisted his chest and bowed more slowly. "It was nothing Herald." Katja saw his throat tighten. "If you… ever require anything of the Inquisition's templars, you need only to ask. We are yours."

Feeling more of a compression on her skin from the words. _We are yours._

It was the same with Fiona, but it didn't feel so tight. They are hers.

Mentally shaking the feeling away, redirecting herself to the outskirts of the camp. Finding the tallest tree, she unlaced her boots, and begun to climb. Climbing mid-way before finding a decent branch. Stopping there, crouching and hugging herself – chin resting on her folded arms. Looking at where the Breach once was. Analyzing the air and Veil patterns. For some time she stayed in that position and intense analyzing.

"Ya know Kitten you'll cause another giant hole in the sky if you keep staring." Recognizing the nickname-caller and the sound of the witty voice.

She lightly smiled, "One can never be too certain Varric."

A loud grunt, "Boss, certainty is good and all, but if the sky was ripped open again, we'd all know it."

"Really Lady Trevelyan we should be celebrating. I managed to smuggle some wine and had a tent set up. Come down." Offered Dorian.

"Not enough for your frilly arse to get drunky, eh?" Remarked Sera.

"Just one of many to come once we return to Haven."

"So, really Lady Trevelyan, let us get out of this awful cold." Called out Vivienne, "Celebration is in the works in your name. You shouldn't be swinging in a tree like a Rivaini monkey."

She sighed. It was moot to celebrate. It was premature. That black, shadow _thing_ was still out there. If she were _it_, retaliation would be in order. They were on borrowed time. Wanting it to show itself. Wanting to play some stab-time with the source of the fuckery of her life.

When she made no move to come down, Varric made a daring suggestion to Bull, "Hey Tiny, ever played an Orlesian dance with a tree before?"

Katja's eye twitched. He wouldn't…

"Once or twice. Let's see if my dancing is up to standards."

He would.

The giant Qunari wrapped his massive arms around the tree and started to shake it. Grunting and heaving in exertion.

"Where'd she go?!" Shouted Varric.

She'd disappeared.

The Iron Bull stopped his 'dance' with the tree to look with the rest of the stunned party. Ben-Hassareth eyes searching.

The Qunari felt cold feet plop themselves on his massive shoulders before the legs of those feet descended down to wrap around his thick neck. Grunting from the surprise weight on his shoulders. Jerking his horned head up to meet the mischievous red eyes of the owner of said legs.

"That was a fine dance Bull, but I must ask that it shouldn't always end with me riding you."

The group and said Qunari howled in laughter. Even when they were trudging through camp with eyes staring at the sight of the barefoot 'Herald' straddling the shoulders of a giant Qunari.

* * *

><p>She was going to get her chance.<p>

She was going to get back to the 'Elder One's' fuckery on her life.

This 'Elder One' didn't wait long on his revenge on her. Three days later after closing the Breach, he made his way through the mountains with the templars that were tainted with red lyrium. Slaves to his whim. Controlled by the middle-man named Samson, a former templar. According to Cullen. Before their assault, a young man with a high Veil-pull came to warn them. Calling himself Cole. Reporting that the majority of the bannerless army was over the mountain. The name of this 'Elder One' was Corypheus.

Tactics were made to use the three trebuchets to slow or stop their march.

Time to give Corypheus a bad fucking day.

Katja and her party defended the trebuchets from the red templar's assault on Haven. Being close to their red lyrium taint hurt her head, fighting through it.

It was going swell until an archdemon dragon spewed up some red lyrium fire balls at them. Her insides felt like they were being ripped apart from the high-concentration.

Katja didn't sign up for that. Neither did the Inquisition. They were in retreat mode back to the Chantry. Possibly the only building that can withstand a hit from the archdemon. Along the way, she and her party helped those that were trapped. Rushing them to the Chantry. The heavy doors closing behind them.

Within the span of a few minutes, that felt like hours to her, a heavy plan was formed. Absolutely hating it.

Chancellor Roderick would lead the Inquisition down a overgrown, less known path through the mountains. While, she, would use the remaining trebuchet that hasn't launched, to cause one last slide. That last slide would ultimately bury Haven along with the majority of the red templar army.

Cullen didn't like it, she could tell.

"If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you." He told her.

Compression, tight as barbs, wound themselves in her conscience. Brushing it away, she was going to get back at the fuck that turned her life on its head. If she were to die, she'll die laughing at its face.

Volunteers from her party wanted to come along to ensure success. Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric.

Fighting their way to the remaining trebuchet; inching the turning sequence while fighting dozens of red templars. Finally, with that complete. She gained the attention of the archdemon dragon. Not wanting the rest of her party to get involved – this was her fight after all. She shouted, "Find the rest of them! I'll meet you when I can!" Winding up a whip made of tightly braided light, wrapping around them, she hurled them away in the general direction of the Chantry.

The dragon launched fire from its maw, scorching the earth, dodging just in time to avoid being crispy bacon.

Pulling herself up. Looking at the minor devastation, a figure, shrouded in darkness. Gaining form before her. Image memory overlapping.

Staring at the face of the fuckery of Thedas.

He was tall, over ten feet. Body skinny like a twig and twisty like the exoskeleton of an insect. The remnants of a dark purple robe covered his waist and legs. Arms long and thin with large claw like hands. His face gnawed like a knobby tree and half of it spouted red lyrium crystals.

Suddenly thinking that she needed a bigger shoe.

Said thoughts were interrupted when the dragon landed behind Katja. Roaring loudly and snapping it's jaws at her.

"Enough!" The Fucker said, pushing energy to the dragon. Said dragon stopped it's mock attack on her and went to its master.

"Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more." He said, deep and raspy. The hum of the lyrium, the metallic cling, ringing with the octaves.

Squinting her eyes at him, bold and fearless.

"I don't fear you, creature. State your business."

Sniding at her boldness, "Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was. Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The _will_ that is Corypheus!"

So this is the fuckery of her life and Thedas.

Corypheus pointed a condemning finger at her, "You will kneel."

Giving him her best stink-eye she said, "Fuck you. I kneel to no one."

"You resist? You will always resist. It matters not." Materializing an orb into his left hand, it's power glowing a bright red. "I am here for the _Anchor_. The process of removing it begins now."

The energy shot to her marked palm. Pain she hadn't felt since the beginning of this damned journey. Feeling as if this 'Anchor' was pulling her insides with it. Sure as hell not going to kneel because of a little pain in front of this ass. Hearing her daggers becoming unsheathed, she looked up to see them being pulled out by an invisible hand and being flung toward the trebuchet. The asshole's work.

A cursed thought entered her mind, _If it goes, my journey as this 'Herald' ends. I can go home. My path home is not closed._

But, an equal more pressing thought came too,_ If he has it, you will have no home anywhere .It all will burn like you once wanted._

Conflicted thoughts and emotions as the Anchor was being forcibly pulled from her body.

"It is your fault, 'Herald.' You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose."

Conflicted thoughts halted as a more pressing one came up, _What?! _I_ took it! _Stole_ it?! Is that why I can't fucking remember how I got this thing?_

Corypheus continued, "I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as 'touched,' what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens."

The pull, seemingly out of his anger, fired her nerves. Pushing herself through the pain. The Anchor mixing in both red and green.

"And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!"

Gritting her teeth, shouting, "Fuck you asshole‼"

That seemed to irk him as he stomped pompously to her, grabbing her marked hand roughly, pulling her up in the air by the arm.

His ugly-ass face right in her own. His lyrium smelling breath wafting into her nose.

"I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire _in person_."

Really wishing he'd stop his monologue. But cursing her mark not deciding to stay with her or go to him.

"I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the _will_ to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the Throne of the Gods, and _it was empty_!"

His face contorting to that of extreme anger as he hurled Katja to the trebuchet. The hard wood would leave a bruise there if she got out of there.

"The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling."

Catching her breath, she eyed her most prized of her daggers – Cat's Tooth. If she were to die, she'll die with this dagger in her hands.

"So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation – and god – it requires."

Just as he said that, a flare, distant between two mountain peaks popped in the dusky, smoky sky.

She knew.

"There's just one problem dumbass: Your pride!" Taking Cat's Tooth, and as hard as she could swung it on the mechanism, causing the trebuchet to fire.

The giant boulder flailed like it was a pebble in the air. Launching mightily into the mountain. The blow causing a delayed avalanche that caused the earth to shake like an empty stomach. Corypheus looked dumbfounded as the snow and part of the mountain came down. Taking the chance to run, to try and find shelter. Briefly looking that the dragon took his master away – flying off. Her momentary lapse caused her to stumble on weak footing – a wooden railing that covered a hole – it crushed under her weight sending her down into its dark, cold depths. Her body being struck multiple times during her decent, rolling down into the chasm. The strong taste of copper in her mouth. The breaking and fracturing of limbs.

Finally halting her fall, her eyes dim in the darkness as they closed. Visual sensors halting. Innocent and familiar voices in her head.

_"Big Cat, before I report to the Order, I have a gift for you. But, you'll have to promise not to tell mom and dad and to keep it safe."_

_"I love presents! I promise! I promise! What is it Little Great Bear?"_

_"… This!"_

_"Oh! A dagger! It's so pretty!"_

_"Yeah. I asked Waldan to forge it for you. Do you know how to use a dagger?"_

_An innocent chuckle, "Of course! You stick 'em with the pointy end!"_

_A ringing, hearty, baritone laughter, "That's right! What are you gonna call it? All the legendary blades have names."_

_"Yeah! Mine's gonna be legend! Um…"_

_"How about 'Mr. Pointy'?"_

_A loud childish laughter, "No silly! No one's gonna be scared of a blade named 'Mr. Pointy'! How 'bout… 'Cat's Tooth'!"_

_"'Cat's Tooth'?"_

"Because I'm 'Big Cat'," a small, raspy whisper answered, "and this is my 'Tooth'."

"And your Tooth is broken," the darkness replied back to her.

Slowly, sluggishly, she opened her eyes. A dark blue nothingness, frigid and icy, awaited her senses. A dim glow from her mark – the Anchor – casted a faint green luminescence on the icy walls. Face-down in the cold ground. The heavy taste of coppery blood in her mouth. Sharp, stabbing pain in her chest, arms and legs. Coughing up and spitting out the drying blood in her mouth. The action made her yelp in pain. Summoning up her mana to heal her – yet she couldn't. Feeling the Veil for that spark of a connection.

Request denied.

Mentally searching for anything to help. A hidden reserve within herself, a tendril, anything!

Nothing. Empty.

Fighting through her momentary panic. Keeping her animalistic urge and instinct that she was going to die at bay. Silently assessing herself. She was cold, shivering, unable to use her mana for some reason, her arms were sore but unbroken, probably a broken or bruised rib, head throbbing, and her left thigh hurt the most – the jarring pain of a broken limb on the thigh.

Gritting her teeth through the pain, sobbing, to turn herself over. Nearly screaming in the pain and exertion to do so. Red and yellow spots dotted her vision. Simply _breathing_ hurt. Calming herself. The adrenaline and will to survive on high alert.

Using her marked hand, the dim glow helping her to see the buckles of her side pack, uncoupling them, and digging into the pack. Searching for one of her potions that would help her. Screaming in frustration and pain was broken glass met her hand. Not one vile was left unbroken. Silently cursing the Maker, Andraste, and that cunt-hugger Corypheus.

"I'm not gonna beg!" Hoarsely whispering into the darkness. Teeth chattering at the cold.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, she could make out old wooden beams and discarded rags within her peripheral vision. Crawling on her back, using her good, but sore, leg to push her to the debris. Feeling as though it took her hours to make it. Once there, she put the smallest piece into her mouth, like a dog would a bone. With calm nervousness quickly heaving her torso up. Screaming and biting through the wooden gag. Tears dripping down her cheeks. Pulling herself together, using the glow from her mark to help her find some good wood and a decent rag to bind her broken thigh.

Finding what she needed, along with a staff-like branch, setting up her makeshift binding around the wounded thigh. Not the best of choices, but it was the best regardless. Now was the hard part. Setting the bone in place.

Clearing her head. Breathing through the wood gag. Placing her hands above her knee. Steeling herself before she lost her nerve, pushed the knee hard. Screaming. Yellow and red dots in her vision. Setting the bone back to its original position. Feeling the moving bone and muscle. Nearly passing out from the pain. Cold tears blotting the broken thigh.

Tying the fabric and two beams around the thigh. Tight enough to keep it from rebreaking. Satisfied from her work. Putting the rest of the discarded cloth on her shoulder.

Time to get up and moving.

Setting her make-shift crutch on her right side, holding it upright. Using only her uninjured leg and sore arms to push herself up. Biting her wooden gag through the pain. Spitting it out once she was on her feet, well foot. Using the glow from her marked hand to search around the cavern. The shiny glow of her dagger, Cat's Tooth, met her eye. The dagger was wedged into a beam; the blade stabbed into the wood. Sighing, limping her way to her dagger. Careful not to hurt her thigh or bruised ribs. Smiling lightly at the beloved dagger. The stuff of legends. Pulling it free from the beam, winching from the action.

Jerry-rigging herself so that she could bind the hilt of her dagger with the end of the branch using the discarded cloth. Making a makeshift spear. Hoping that it would hold up. Satisfied, she began her journey to find the rest of the Inquisition. But first she needed to get out of where ever she was.

Using the glow from her hand as a torch, limping along the cave. It was one way out from where she woke up. Slowly it became lighter the further she walked. Happy that her luck was holding up. Seeing the end of the tunnel and the howling of the wind and snow.

Momentary happiness cut short as three demons – out of nowhere – sprouted around her, nearly flanking her. Time slowed as they jumped on her.

"Get off of me‼" She screamed, out of instinct raising her left arm.

Blinding green light flooded her vision as the demons were being eaten from a small rift she created. Dissolving away into it. After a brief second it vanished along with the demons. Katja's vision nearly fading from the exertion. Quickly gaining her wits, holding her makeshift spear at the ready.

Waiting.

Nothing. All clear.

Pulling herself up once again. Feeling if her mana had returned to her. Total S.O.L.

Groaning angrily at her continued fuckery. Pulling her hood over her head, and with great trepidation, limped out of the tunnel and into the howling snow. Picking a direction and went with it. Not seeing very far from the thick snow drops.

The cold bit harshly into her clothes. Slowly seeping into her bones. After a while, she stopped feeling the pain in her thigh and her ribs. The constant howling from the wind was the only sound she could hear besides her muffled footsteps in the crunching snow. Settling into a rhythm. Crutch, howl, crunch, breath, howl. Rinse and repeat. Bones aching. Begging to for her to stop.

_If I stop, I'll die._

Her hunger and thirst forgotten. Uncertain of how long she had been walking or what time it was. Feeling as though she had just walked the same pass the last three times. Seeing false shapes in the grey-white haze of falling snow.

_Why do I want to go back?_ She asked herself. _If I stop, that will be it. No more of this Herald nonsense._

"Because sister, who else can heal the world?" Jerking her head to the familiar voice.

"Little Great Bear?" Now she is in the deep end.

But, there he was walking with her in the blistering cold snow storm. Unaffected by the elements. His serious blue eyes and short-cropped sandy blond hair, wearing his templar recruit armor. Just as she last saw him in her memories.

"C'mon Big Cat. You can't be that wimpy from a little cold."

Mentally shaking him away, "You're not real. I gotta be dyin'."

"No more than the rest of us." A group of groany voices added.

Her heart feeling icy. Twelve other templars forming on the other side of her. Their throats and chest marring them from stab wounds. Their faces disfigured. Walking funny from the heavy wound and bleeding from their groin area.

"Where is the Haunted One? The one that killed us in her rage?" Collectively laughing through the slice from their throats. The gash smiling with pointed teeth.

"Get away from me!" Running from them. Their hands pulling on her, bringing her back. Pushing forward. Swinging her makeshift spear in an arch at them.

They were gone.

Silence.

"Be a good Kitty."

Old, primal fear sinking in.

Smoothly, the old tenor voice creeped on her ear, "I want to be good to you."

"No!" Swinging back around the source of the voice. No one home. "You're dead!"

Chuckling laughter in the howling snow. The flurries forming the Evil One, the Betrayer. His Knight-Commander armor shining bright with splatters of blood. His slit throat smiling. Head nearly split and caved in from stab wounds.

"Your such a good, selfish cunt. I'll always live through you. Doing my work."

"Fuck off!" Slashing at the dead Knight-Commander. Bursting in a tuft of snow. Reforming in the shape of a black, shadow jackal.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" He said with a thousand muffled voices. Ringing loudly in her mind.

Stabbing at the mass, dodging away to the side. Running away from the shadow jackal. The one mass turned to many, surrounding her. Following her in the howling snow storm.

"The world is burning like you always wanted. Burning just like you."

"No more. Not anymore!"

"Then why so selfish then? All you think of is returning home at the soonest possible time. Cursing everything hindering you. You can no longer walk there."

Slowing her pace.

"Death is your only return to that home. Would that be better for you?"

"No!" Hoarsely whispering out, slowing to a walk.

"Then stop your damn running and accept your fate! Pay the price!"

"I didn't know. I didn't _know_." Stopping all together, kneeling in the snow. Heavy tears in her eyes. Holding on to her makeshift spear like a lifeline. Weary from her exhausted efforts. The black shadow jackals laughing at her. Circling her like prey.

"You don't have to keep mourning me ya know."

A little girl with thick, disheveled white hair and glowing red eyes formed before her – no older than eight years old. Her small, thin, white under dress dirty and tearing. A trail of blood running down her thigh. Her small frail body bound in thick, dirty linen wrap – restraining her arms. Her small bare feet pattering in the snow, kneeling beside her.

Katja's tears renewed their efforts.

"Everything's better now. _I'm_ better! Why won't you let me go?"

Unable to speak to her phantom self.

The phantom child smiled, "I want to set you free, too. The world, it's people, isn't as bad as you think. You're being a bronto-head. But you keep holdin' me." Lifting as much as she could from the linen restraints.

"I couldn't protect you. Myself." Whispering her shame.

The phantom child giggled, "You were only eight. A little girl. Mom and dad left and you being scared, reached out to him. Taking advantage of you. The most innocent of the Maker's creation.

"Let _him_ go to. Do you honestly want _that man_ in your heart as well?"

Sighing, "No."

"Okay! See it's not so hard. What about the Inquisition? Your new home?"

Shirking at the mention. "I want to return –"

"No! No." The phantom becoming annoyed, "Remember Havardr's words? See, can't deny that either."

Wanting to protest but the phantom child-self stopped her, "Do you honestly think that a spirit as old as him would have bonded so tight with a nobody mage if he didn't know your fate? Teaching, guiding, healing you if not for this moment? This is _you_! Who you were always meant to be. Your heart years and burns for this! Stop being so afraid!"

"I'm not afraid!"

"Then what is it then?"

She couldn't answer.

"The world cries and begs your name, self. Like you once did. A frightened child in a dark room, calling for help. Pleas on deaf ears. Broken and violated. Needing a defender – a guide to the way. Healing the broken self. You see it, but you don't defend the world, the child, from the violator. You would let him rape the world!"

Heavy tears streaming down her face.

"Look back Katja. It happened. It was always meant to happen. This is how it was _always_ meant to be. Remember your choices: Destroy or heal. What will you do with your choices? Decide or forever wonder the howling snow in the in-between. Keep yourself from being free."

Compression welling in her chest.

Destruction would mean she dies right now. The alternate she witnessed a glorying testimony to her absence – her death.

If she lived, she would heal the world. Living with a price on her. An unaccustomed price. Stopping her alter-self from raping and burning the world.

The way is shut behind her. Never to return.

Everything has a price. Everything changes.

She wanted to live. Letting what she once was go. Standing up.

Her phantom child-self's linen restraints burned away like paper. Smiling, hopeful, happy.

"Give Cullen a kiss for me!" Joyfully laughing out as she skipped away in the hazy falling snow. Arms raised in jubilation.

The shadow jackals that were circling her vanished as well into the snow. Leaving her with cold exhaustion in her frozen steps.

In the distance, very faintly, a dark outline took shape. Golden tuffs on the head part. Red and black fur on the shoulders.

Commander?

He was walking away from her.

"Wait!" She mouthed without a sound. Following his movement.

Feeling a Veil-pull in his direction. It must be him! Holding on to the sensation. His shape got lost in the snow, but she could still feel it.

What felt like hours later, she found an abandoned fire pit. The embers were recent.

Still feeling the Commander's Veil-pull, just a nudge stronger. Heading in that direction. Joy singing into her exhausted limbs. So close. So tired.

Her legs wanted to give out. The burning in her thigh and ribs returning. Darkness in her eyes. Fighting through the exhaustion. Body screaming to stop. Rest.

_No. Not when I'm so close._ She mentally told her body. Fighting its will. _But I'm so tired._

A slow eternity in the cold. The snow abating.

Echoes of voices clanged in her mind faintly. _Maybe, just a little nap._

Eyes closing. The sensation of falling. Stopping. Face clashing on cool metal and warm, tickling fur. Being wrapped around twin, _warm_, strong vices. The strong smell of dried thyme. Loving the warmth and smell.

_Strong hearty laughter in the darkness, "Ya know what Big Cat. I have a feeling that when you meet a man when you grow up is gonna have his hands full with you."_

_"Huh? Why's that?"_

_"It's just a feeling. You're not exactly like other noble girls."_

_"Bah! They're just a bunch of sissies! If I ever meet a man when I grow up, he'll like me for me! We'll be partners against the evil! We'll go down in history!"_

_"In other words; be super-awesome like you?"_

_"Oh yeah!"_

_"Any man who will do that with you, will be a fine man indeed. Now, quickly! Hide Cat's Tooth before mom and dad find it!"_

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N.]<strong> Round of applause for Faceball-92 and Lupi-wolf for the fav/follows! Thanks again Rae for the review, but I'm sorry to disappoint you in this one. However, I promise, the way I got it set up for their 'first kiss' is totally epic. At least it is for me. And technically they have kissed, just not in this 'timeline'.

Also, this chapter is brought to you by Akira Yamaoka.

More self made fanart!

botticella89 . deviantart . (com/) art/Small-Comforts-512337202


	11. Fire in the Sky

Chapter 10: Fire in the Sky

Gazing longingly into the bleak cold dark. Eyes open for any signs of life. The rest of the circle parted, undecided after a heated argument of what to do. The Commander cursing himself. It was he who lit the flare. Ultimately consenting to burying Haven. Burying Katja with it. He couldn't let her go though. Not believing that she had perished. As the hours went by and the further away from Haven they got the more the grimness sunk in.

Feeling as though he was the only one keeping that hope.

Trying to feel any lingering tendril of her Veil. Feeling as though he shouldn't have stopped taking lyrium so soon.

_There should have been another way! I should be dead with her in Haven. Instead of running around like a headless chicken._

Watching Cole pace back and forth. Keeping an eye on him. His abnormality having him on alert. But, strangely, no more than Katja's did.

He stopped his pacing just as the Commander felt a faint pull from the snow.

"No. Not when I'm so close. But I'm so tired." Cole said. Eyes widening. "It's her!"

The Commander leaping from his spot, "Where?!" A tiny, faint pull from the south, but no clearer.

Running to the pull. Cole beside him. Eyes on them as they continued their run into the cold snow. Hearing more footsteps behind him. Following him and Cole.

"Cold. Pain. Sleep. Eyes dark. Body screaming to stop."

He ran faster. The pull becoming stronger. Drifting in and out. A small greenish glow illuminated.

"It's her!" Cullen shouted. Running ever faster, taking the lead. Not letting the pull go. Her outline becoming more defined. Her white hair flailing from the wind. Body hunched over, clutching a makeshift spear with her dagger on the tip. Limping the in snow.

"Thank the Maker!"

"Maybe, just a little nap. Eyes closing."

Letting go of the spear. Falling. Almost leaping to catch her before her fall into the snow. Her face crashing into his chest plate and fur pauldrons. Holding her as tight as he could. Picking her up like a bride.

She was so _cold_!

Panic seized the Commander. She was dying. Pale and lifeless. Lips blue, dark-grey rings around her eyes. Her head caked in dried blood. A jerry-rigged splint on her left thigh. Fingers a light blue. Unknowing what other injuries she sustained. Teeth chattering heavily.

Two clear thoughts rung in his head from the chatter of the group. _Healer. Now._

Running back the way he came. The rest of the group behind him. Within the vicinity of the camp he shouted, "Clear a tent!" A flurry of commotion as a tent was cleared. The three mages within her party and an herbalist gathered.

Gingerly setting her within the empty cot. Quickly the mages and herbalist undressed her, assessing her wounds. Solas pushing him outside. He wanted to protest. He wanted to _help_. To have her see his face when she woke up.

"Please Commander let us help her. You are no healer."

With that he was pushed out. The tent flap closing.

Going back to the horrid task of waiting. The unknown. The uncertainty.

It was clearly felt when the rest of the leaders gathered some time later. Assembled within their meeting tent. A thin, crumbled hope of her pulling through.

"She will. She's made it this far." He said exasperatingly. Tired of the same run around. Unable to accept the alternative.

"You saw her just as I have when we found her." Cassandra said. "It doesn't bode well for her even with the healer's working feverishly to mend her."

"She will pull through. It's too soon to say." Adamantly voicing it.

"Even if she does pull through, then what?" Asked Josephine.

On and on it went. And it ended just as has been before. With more grated frustrations and uncertainty. _Nothing_ decided.

When he opened the tent flap he saw the whole camp surrounded Trevelyan's medical tent. Whispering, praying. Huddled together. Feeling the small pulls from the mages and templars. Lending their strength like they did at the Breach. The sight rendered the party and himself speechless. No one protested the gathering. Leaving them be. Everyone needed it after their huddled defeat at Haven. Morale was low enough as it was.

It was several hours before the group heard any news of her condition. The Commander's nerves frayed for waiting for so long. The leaders and Trevelyan's companions en massing within their meeting tent.

One of the herbalists and Mother Giselle staying within Trevelyan's tent to keep watch.

It was Cassandra who broke the ice, "How is she?" Her voice thin and clearly exhausted.

Solas sighed, "If we were any later in finding her, she would have perished. She is very weak from her journey from the mountains."

"That girl is tougher to kill than a high dragon." Remarked Dorian. "If any one of us went through what she did to get here, we wouldn't have made it."

"For the moment she is stable. We've also managed to heal her wounds." Added Vivienne. "We are unsure as to why she, being a mage, didn't heal herself, or at the least cast small fire spells to keep her warm."

"That is until we found a binding spell on her, similar in construction to a templar casting a Holy Smite or Silence. It took all three of us along with the unexpected aid of the resident mages and templars to remove it." Explained Solas.

The group nodded. Cullen asked, "Would it be safe to assume that this Elder One, Corypheus, casted it on her?"

"Yes it would. However, until she regains her strength to report what happened we can only speculate."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she stays out for a while." Remarked Dorian, tiredly. "We'd best get comfortable, despite where we are."

That's how that was left. Even the rambunctiousness of Varric's witty remarks, Bull's crassness, and Sera's crazy mutters were silent.

The Commander feeling growing protective pains in his chest at the whole situation. It was just one more attempt of fate taking from him. This time, she had come back. He wasn't going to let another repeat. He wouldn't let it happen again. Haven, won't happen again.

_What a fool I am. Falling for the hero._

Trying to push the infatuation away. Unable to; continually growing stronger. Internally sighing at himself. What was with him and falling for a strong leader like Trevelyan?

After some time, he paid a brief visit to Trevelyan's tent. Mother Giselle keeping watch over her.

He could barely make her out under all the wool and fur blankets. Tuffs of silver-white hair rippling out in soft waves. She had regained her tan coloring with a faint dusking of pink on her cheeks and nose-tip. Faint dark circles under her sleeping eyes; testament of her exhaustion. Full lips slightly chapped form the cold and the color of a dragonthorn berry. Her breathing easy and even.

"How is she?" Asking quietly to Mother Giselle.

"She sleeps soundly Commander. I pray that Andraste continues to give her an easy rest." She replied just as quietly.

"And… I as well." Forcing his legs to move out of the tent. Bundling his feelings within his chest.

The next morning came the routine of the depressing, argument within the meeting tent. The same run-a-round. The Commander was in no mood for the same charade. The pulses of his withdrawal coming to the forefront – this head throbbed from his migraine and his muscles pulsated painfully. Snapping and barking at the other commanders.

They heard a small commotion outside but they ignored it.

A sudden jerking of the tent flap opening. The sunlight coming through, casting an ambianic silhouette of the person interrupting – along with a stabbing pain to his head. Though he was glad for the respite of their argument. The brief second turned to shock as the Herald, Katja, came through. Wrapping herself in one of the thick fur blankets, her breeches, and leather boots. Her spider silk hair in disarray. Her oval face calm if melancholic. Lastly, her deep, ruby-red eyes were clear, detecting the faintest hint of drowsiness from sleep.

Mother Giselle behind her. Eyes wide like a mother finding her child harmed.

"Please Herald, return to your tent," Mother Giselle beseeched, "you need your rest. Let the commanders continue their discussion."

Katja's face sported a small grin, "It seems to me," her voice small and raspy from disuse, "that they were arguing than discussing anything. It's alright Mother Giselle, I'll only be a short while. I'll meet you at my tent."

"But –"

Katja shook her head, "I'm sure one of the commanders would escort me back if I'm too weak to continue. Um, thank you for watching me."

"It's alright Mother Giselle," Cassandra spoke up then, breaking the groups surprise reverie, "we'll watch her."

The Mother furrowed her brows in sad disapproval, but said no more as she left them.

Cullen felt the tugs of relief flood into his bones. His throat tightened and constricted. Despite her being weary, she appeared to be in good health. The mage's healing abilities did their work. Katja no longer limped from her injury to her thigh and the wound on her head was completely mended. He had to hold himself back from taking the paces that separated them and close it – enveloping her in an embrace. Thinking better of it.

Instead he said, gratefully, "It is good to see that you mended well. Though you should still be in bed."

She cocked a grin at him, the action fluttered in his chest. "It's hard to sleep when we are in a dire circumstance." Then, her face turned melancholic but serious, "Why… has there not been a decision on where to go yet?"

"Because Herald we –" Leliana started irefully, but sighing, calming herself, "were unsure of where to start. Some of our injured need to rest, like yourself."

Josephine nodded, "The rest are in a state of shock over Haven. Our supplies are low – including food and medicine. With that discursion is high. We have to stick together." The same desperate look on her face that she had since Haven.

"Shelter is needed and fast. It will be tough to convince them to continue if we have no solid plan on that front. We highly doubt than we could even convince a meager supporter of ours to shelter several hundred people along with the possibility of being attacked by this Corypheus and his archdemon." Cullen added. Sighing at the prospect ahead of them.

"Thus, are continued arguing run-a-bout." Cassandra finalized.

Katja furrowed her brows in consideration. Stepping forward, closer to the map of Thedas sprawled haphazardly on top of the collection of chairs and low tables. Her eyes searching, wanting to unlock secrets. Analyzing.

The Commander noticed the small fog of her breath from her proximity. With the faint smell of pine needles and dew grass.

"We need to keep going northward. We cannot stay."

Fire blazed in the Commander's mind at her suggestion. So did the rest of the commanders. All at once shouting questions or disapproval.

Shaking her head annoyingly, "Please, you've all have done enough of that for a day." She sighed, and from her small movement under the fur blanket – clasped her hands. The action steeling the Commander that what she was about to say was important, but nervous of how to say it. Suddenly feeling like a child being reprimanded for being unreasonable.

The rest of the commanders were quiet, waiting for what she needed to say.

Her face suddenly shifted to the Commander's perceiving bronze eyes. The calm melancholy was replaced by a hard steel, the very air around her had the Commander rapt at attention.

"There is… nothing for us here. If we do not move, we will be worse off for it. We're _vulnerable_." She quietly said.

"Why north?" Leliana asked quietly.

"There is… a place for us there. I've seen it, though briefly."

Josephine's face lit up, "That's wonderful news. Do you know the way?"

She paused. "Not exactly. I'll have to scout ahead for us."

That didn't sit well with him or anyone.

"No you won't!" The Commander vehemently opposed. "You just got up from having scant rest. Almost dying from your wounds and hypothermia. Now you want to scout out a place you claim exists to Maker-knows-where? Absolutely not!"

Trevelyan scowled, "If we do not go we will _all_ be dead." Her tone was a verbal slap not only to the Commander but to the others. "All this sitting around bickering serves _nothing_ but to prolong the death of everyone.

"I know the general direction of where to go, _none_ of the scouts do. I'm fully healed and as rested as I'll ever be until we find shelter. Which is more than I can say for some who fought just as hard at Haven. All I need at this point is food in my belly and water to drink. If you four are so concerned, I'll ask Solas to scout with me in case I need help. Though I doubt it, since I can use my mana now." Sighing heavily, annoyed at them, "That's better than what you four knuckle-heads were able to come up with."

That… was a big, heavy mental slap. The Commander saw that the others were just as affected, to their own extent, of her words. Harsh, bitter truths. Feeling rather foolish and like a child being scolded by the parents. She was right. The main priority should have been finding shelter instead of the wasted effort of arguing.

_I should have known better. Even in my age and experience, I can still be a dullard._

After a moment, Cassandra broke the silence, "Alright. But, we do not take this lightly."

They all nodded. Consenting to the idea Katja presented to them. Having little other choice.

"I know." Her melancholy returning.

"Some will probably perish on the march."

She sighed and softly said, "I know."

Cullen wanted to go over to her and comfort her. His little internal, nervous shyness keeping him still. The more he spent with her, the more of her strength – her fortitude – beamed. Katja looked so small to hold such inner strength. Knowing the risk, making the decision – despite the grim reality – to follow through. Falling a little more into his infatuation.

_I will watch. I will follow. Even if you never know how much I wish to hold you._

After the meeting, the withdrawal didn't feel so daunting to the Commander. Though he still hated the brightness from the snow. The camp packing after being given the orders of the morrow's march. The beginning their troublesome journey into the unknown along the Frostbacks.

Toward the evening, a whim came into his head. He couldn't necessarily say why the whim came to him, but he rather liked the idea. Rather poetic and ironic. Finding what he was looking for in the snow, her dagger, still attached in a make-shift spear to the knobby staff-like branch. Returning to the camp, he made his way to his small tent, fetching a cloth and oil and a whetstone. Cleaning the dagger and removing it from the branch.

Once completed, he made his way to her tent. She wasn't in there. Momentarily panicking. Asking and searching the camp for her where-a-bouts. His search reached the edge of camp where he spotted her and Solas looking out a ravine. Well out of ear-shot of the camp.

After a while, she made her way back to the camp.

She had, since her interruption in the meeting tent, dressed back into her usual leathers and armor. The thick, fur blanket forgotten. Her blue head-band keeping her unruly spider-silk hair out of her face – her hair in a loose braid. Looking a little more of herself.

"Where you waiting for me Commander?" She asked.

Feeling a little more nervous than he should be. "I – uh, in a manner of speaking. I was wondering if you would like something to eat."

Lame!

She cocked her brows at him. "It isn't time for the rations to be distributed Commander."

Feeling heat rise to his cheeks. How could he have forgotten!

"Oh… that's right. Sorry."

Katja clasped her hands and chuckled softly. "Is there something else?"

Trying to pull up some dignity when he said, "Yes. But, I would like to show you at your tent. If you have the time."

_That… didn't sound right._

"Okay. That's fine."

The Commander was relieved that his nervousness was not detected by her.

Making their way to her tent the Commander was aware of the admiring stares of those that they passed. All of which fisted their chests in respect. They were aware of him beside her, but their focus was on Trevelyan.

_She has their hearts and minds._ He absently noted.

He noted her nervous demeanor – clasping hands and shifting eyes. It was probably Cullen's imagination, but it seemed she drifted a little closer to his person. The attention always seemed to make her nervous. Though he Commander can relate.

Once at her tent, she addressed him, "Alright Commander, what is it that you needed to show me?"

Steeling himself, he reached into a hidden clasp within his cloak and pulled out her dagger. Presenting the hilt to her. Her eyes widened from surprise.

Throat turning dry, taking a moment to clear it. "I thought you would like to have it returned."

The cold exterior melted in an instant on her face. Softening. Katja smiled brightly and a twinkle within her ruby eyes that looked like gems. Very gently, she reached out with her right hand to the hilt – like she was afraid of breaking it. Hands wrapping around it with familiar ease. Hugging the dagger close to her like a mother would their babe. Having an air of calm happiness. Feeling the electricity when her hand touched his. Sending shivers across his spine and down to his toes. Up again to nestle comfortably in his groin. Swallowing hard to will his growing arousal away. A blush threatening to form.

She looked at him with the same expression of calm happiness. The affect pulled and tightened in the Commander's chest. Wrapping and nestling comfortably within his psyche. Giving him warm pride that he had made her happy within this dismal time.

"Thank you." It was almost a whisper. Full of released emotion. The most emotion that he had ever seen from her.

"It… it was nothing Trevelyan." His throat, once again, tightening.

"No. It was something, and I thank you for it. You don't know how much this means to me."

Cullen was feeling mighty uncomfortable. Unaccustomed to the grey blurs of ridged decorum and civil custom. Although it could be said that retrieving her dagger was within that grey blur. Wanting nothing more than to hold her – comfort her. Holding the hilt of his sword with his left hand and rubbing his neck with the other in nervousness.

Clearing his throat for the millionth time, he said, "I am… glad that, ah, I returned it before we set out in the morn then."

"Me too. Speaking of retrievals. How is your sword?"

Grateful that it was heading to neutral territory for the Commander, "It is well. Thank you. It remains undamaged."

She smiled softly, "That's good then. I never asked the name of your sword. What do you call it?"

"Sigurd." The Commander grinned at his choice.

"Sigurd? Umm…" She furrowed her brows in concentration, then released in realization. "It derives from old Ferelden 'Siguror'. Of which means 'victory' and 'guardian'. It's a good name."

The Commander felt a returning blush creeping up his neck. "Er, yes, I suppose your right. I didn't realize you speak old Ferelden."

"I don't. It's just something I remembered from a Fade-trip I had once."

"Oh." The Commander felt rather foolish. "What of your blade? What do you call it?"

It was then Katja's face turned melancholic once again. Holding the dagger tighter to her.

"It's, ah, not as noble sounding as 'Sigurd'. It's rather silly actually."

Cullen cocked an eyebrow, "Come now. I told you mine Trevelyan."

She sighed lightly before answering. "Cat's Tooth."

"'Cat's Tooth'?" It… did sound rather silly. Something a child would come up with for a toy.

"Because I'm 'Big Cat' and this is my 'Tooth'." The Commander heard it, but it was intended as a whisper.

Katja looked so sad. It was like the Commander unlocked a memory within her. Or, at the least, glimpsed at a memory she held.

It was then the Commander realized something. The way she held the sword and how small she seemed. It looked like a child clutching a stuffed bear when they are afraid of the dark.

Cullen felt guilty. It must have been a sad memory that he triggered from her.

_This conversation sounded much better in my head._

"I'm sorry. If this is painful –"

Her ruby red eyes widened from surprise as she spurted out, "No! It's alright Commander. It was one of those memories that is happy but it makes you sad at the same time. Does that make any sense?"

Internally sighing, a little relieved, "Yes. I understand Trevelyan. Well, ah, best of luck tomorrow. And… be careful."

Her throat visibly tightened. "You too Commander."

Katja made her way to him, her steps quiet and calculated. Very much within his space. Confused as to why she was so close until she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. In a state of shock over the sudden action. Just as quickly as she did so, she retreated. Her head down. Walking away stiffly into the throng of the camp.

Leaving the shy Commander sporting a furious blush across his cheeks.

The next morning their expedition started later than they all wanted. Though he thanked the Maker that the sky was clear. The loud sounds of the bronto herding equipment and the neighing of the horses. Katja in the lead with Solas beside her. He could see her a quarter of a mile out, coming toward them on her horse. A gift from the Horse Master. Giving them directions on where it was safe for the camp to head towards. Before galloping back out to continue her scouting.

It was a solid three day march across the Frostbacks. The ravines, ice, snow and treacherous terrain slowed them. Not once did Katja complain, nor did the whispers from the camp. Not even when some of the most sick and injured succumbed to their afflictions and perished. By the end of the day it was a solemn affair with the ceremonies. With lack of wood, the only option was to bury them. She was present at each one. Saying a few comforting words to the departed.

On the second day Cassandra and the other commanders came to him with a consensus. They wanted her as the Inquisitor. Full heartily agreeing.

"Once we arrive at this place she speaks of, we intend on informing her. For now, let us keep it a surprise."

Agreeing to Cassandra's request.

_She has their hearts and minds. They will follow her even more now that she will be Inquisitor._

Toward mid-afternoon on the third day she came back to camp with Solas on a full gallop. Unabashed happiness on her face.

"We found it!"

A collective sigh went through the whole camp as news spread that the end of the journey was near. The pace was soon picked up as the end drew to a close. When the location came into place, it took his breath away. The scale of the castle was massive. Even from a distance. It could easily hold their meager numbers and more. As the camp came closer a collective awe reverberated throughout.

It took until the early evening to reach the gates. The camp stopping within the courtyard, but soon migrated to within the hold itself. The main hall easily holding the people of the camp. Grateful for shelter. Their faces weary but glad for a place of shelter and safety. Using the broken furniture to use as kindling for the several hearth fires lining the main hall's walls. Within a span of a few hours, the camp settled into their bedrolls and slept within the hall.

The next morning the Commander rallied the camp within the courtyard, whispers of a ceremony tingling the camp's ears. Waiting on top the first tier of the stair case for the main attraction to come out. Leliana was with him, holding a regalia sword. One that symbolizes power rather than for fighting. Josephine as well – looking very happy and prim despite what had happened the last few days.

Speaking of which, Katja came out with Cassandra, leading her out of the main hall.

"The Inquisition requires a leader: The one who has _already_ been leading it." Cassandra said as she lead her to them.

Leliana presented the regalia sword to her.

The Commander stood by watching her reaction. Hoping that she would accept. Her face surprisingly neutral to the burden they have chosen for her to have. She then looked out the quiet crowd that was rallied beneath the steps.

"It… it's unanimous? You all would trust me to do this?" Her voice quiet.

"I will not say that there will be those who would doubt the decision. But times are changing. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead: That must be yours to decide."

Her face turning to steel as she took the regalia sword. "Corypheus must be stopped. No one will live in peace until he is defeated. He made that clear."

They all turned to face the crowd.

Cassandra's voice shouting outward, "Have our people been told?"

Josephine shouted with her, "Yes they have. And soon the world."

"Will they follow Commander?"

"Inquisition? Will you follow?"

"AYE‼" Their voices shouting, echoing loudly within the castle walls. Upraising their hands.

"Will you fight?"

"AYE‼"

"Will you triumph?"

"AYE‼"

"Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor_!"

"AYE‼ _AYE_‼ _AYE_‼"

* * *

><p>So many things to do. Barracks to assign. Weapon inventory. Patrols to be set up. Not to mention clearing the rubble. He found a suitable place for his quarters but was unable to have it functional until the second week of their arrival.<p>

Skyhold was a mess to the Commander's eyes.

For the short time, the only living space was the main hall. The only people that didn't dine or sleep there were the sick and injured. Those were in the middle yard receiving treatment.

It was nothing short of business for those days – which turned to weeks.

He hardly had time to visit the newly made Inquisitor. She was always running to and fro. Managing construction, seeing to the injured, other duties. He only interacted with her during their morning meetings in the war room.

She, at his arms length observation, seemed to be mending well. Her acceptance of Inquisitor had a tremendous morale booster to the troops and other refugees. Making them work and bolster with enthusiasm. Many joined the Inquisition during that time. Their numbers swelled heavily. Pilgrims with them as well.

He was privy to the rumors around her since her seeming death at Haven.

It was those same rumors that gave the residents and soldiers alike awed reverence. Even more so than before.

That she was resurrected. The Maker brought her back from the dead.

The Inquisitor – Katja – gave a report on her survival to the Inner Circle, but it didn't seemed to be heard from the masses.

It was still awe inspiring of her survival, even if the thought of the Maker resurrecting her was more pleasing to the ears and their beliefs. It gave the Commander renewed respect for her. Her resilience was astounding. He doubted that at the same circumstance he would do the same.

Along with the fact that she faced a darkspawn, archdemon, whatever that was and lived.

And the truth about her mark, the Anchor.

Maker's Breath. Thinking about it had him go through some sleepless nights.

He wouldn't let what happened at Haven reoccur at Skyhold.

"It's just… I am glad that you and so many made it out." She said to him the day after her inauguration.

He saw her advert her ruby eyes and folded her arms. Embarrassment or uncertainty maybe? Cullen felt that protective love well in his chest. He clasped her hand with both of his in reassurance, and vowed to her that Haven will not have a repeat. His shyness forgotten. A little more relaxed around her and his feelings. She widened her hands in surprise at his touch… perhaps?

Speaking of sleepless nights.

He was currently writing reports and orders for the morning, when a small pain seizure wracked his body. He gripped the hilt of his sword. He didn't unsheathe it, just held it tightly. Willing himself into steel – fighting through the pain. Little flecks of blue in his vision – calling out to him. Little whispers of voices best left forgotten. Pulling, tempting him. He wanted it. More than air. He willed it away.

It wouldn't abate. Calling. Calling. Pleading. Teasing. Demanding. Clawing.

He sprung from his makeshift desk and leaving his quarters. Hoping that he wouldn't stumble into anyone to his private turmoil.

Over and over he chanted, mouthing the words, "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder…"

He chanted and he walked around the battlements of Skyhold.

Not much aware of his surroundings. He was aware of his movements – walking, going up stairs, opening doors – the cold mountain air. The cold.

The pain started to recede back into his normal hum in his nerves. His normal tolerance.

He opened the final door into a tower.

A small werelight greeted him. It shivered and lapped lazily in its space. It ghosted on a semi-rotten table and the owner of the werelight was drinking sluggishly on a similar semi-rotten chair. The smell of the alcohol was strong in the small space.

"Inquisitor." He said astounded to find her here late at night – alone, drinking, in the dark.

Her red eyes sluggishly looked at him. Their usual fire dim. Her white hair lank and lifeless despite the glow it emitted from the solitary light.

He felt a pull in his chest, but ignored it.

Cullen remembered one other time he had seen her like this. Though she wasn't as inebriated.

She breathed out heavily – warm fog came out. Chuckling without amusement, "You seem to take mirth in finding me Commander."

She was defiantly drunk from her slurry speech, he came to her side and asked, "Why are you out here drinking? What's put you in this state?"

The Inquisitor laughed bitterly. "The Commander wishes to _know_? Mine state? There is a lot on mine state good Ser!" She rocked back lightly, finding it amusing at his question.

The Commander came closer to her. The hum from his pain seizure tightened his muscles, but he had more pressing concerns with the Inquisitor's well being. Having a long drinking spell in the cold was not the best for one's health.

"Ya wanna know a secret super-ex-templar Commander Cullen?" Her eyes sudden solemn. "I've never told anyone this but …" she took a swig of her liquor, "when all this shit started. I was happy to play in the background. It wasn't when I came to the war room that you said that 'everyone will be looking at me' that I realized my previous life was over. Hell I fought it." Another generous swig, "in that private moment, I wanted it all go get buried. Metaphorically speakin'. To go back to my life before. That all of it was a big joking _dream_!

"Guess what happened!? It got buried _literally_. Not only that but a lot of people _died_. Soldiers you put in some sweat to _train_, refugees we _sheltered_, locals who _harbored_ us." Another hardy helping of liquor.

"When Corypheus came and attempted to take the anchor away. I was mentally willing it along! 'Go take the fuckin' thing back!' but no!," she waved her hand lazily in the air while simultaneously taking a drink, "still here!"

Cullen was feeling very uncomfortable at hearing this from her, "Inquisitor –"

"No! You – " she kicked his shin, "you gonna shut it and listen. Yer Inquisitor-ness demands it of you. Since you fucks can't call me by name." Another swig. "A-anyway. When I almost died. I was almost relieved. I would wake up and go back – end of dream. Although chopping that Corephyus's pisser off would have done wonders for me.

"I thought I was goin' to. The little jackals of my brain were comin' at me. I could see them through the snow and cold. Makin' me remember shit that needed to stay forgotten. Of how much of a piece of shit I really am. Then, little me came. An _old_ me. The child in me that I locked up, wanting to protect. She came when I wanted to die. Asking to be let go – to set her free. That if I didn't accept the _me_ now, that I would let Corypheus rape the world. Let him burn the world.

"I couldn't go back to being one. I was so focused on being _one_. I couldn't _see_! I _multiplied_ Cullen! Before my eyes! I am _many_ now! All those soldiers, refugees, locals – little bits of _me_ were dead! Havardr told me! I knew what he meant, but I fought it!" Tears came down her cheeks, but she swallowed the sorrow and continued.

"He knew my fate of this world. What I was always meant to be. No elder spirit would bond so closely to a nobody. No. Not a spirit as old as he. Guiding, teaching, healing me. I'm so scared though. If I fail… I saw what it would mean in the alternate.

"I can't let it happen. I accept my fate, even though I curse it. And you guys… accept me so quick. First, as your Herald, then, Inquisitor. All I do is ask and you all obey. I ask you to raise your sword Cullen and when you unsheathed it you raised an army. No questions. It's a little… frightening. In a weird way your my right hand. _One_ of my multipliers. You _multiplied_ me Cullen! You, Leliana, Josephine, Cassandra."

Katja took a long gulp before Cullen could grab the offending bottle. "I think, you've had enough." She didn't protest when the bottle was out of her hand.

She gazed a hole into the ground where the bottle was in her hand. Looking at Cullen with bleary red eyes. Reaching out, holding his hand. "He-Who-Walks-Beside."

The Commander cocked a brow at her. "The what?"

"That's what he called you. I'm starting to understand why."

She sat back lazily in her chair and spread her legs suggestively.

Cullen nearly had a heart attack.

"In-inquisitor! Katja! I think it's time you slept this off. You're not rational."

She let out a bellowing laugh, "Forever you will be She-Who-Walks-Alone."

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N.]<strong> Holy Maker! Thank you bellabri287, moltenash, rocketsocks01, Rhistel Gold, Nyxxos, darius . hunter . 35, ShadowHeart251, dude41, CaptainFluggers, and LKat90 for the favs/follows‼ Huge smiles!

This chapter was a pain to write. It didn't help that I have real world issues to deal with. :(


	12. Fever

Chapter 11: Fever

Total embarrassment.

That's her most reasonable statement to herself. All she wanted was to wallow a little bit in a private tower that had little foot traffic. To mourn a little. To release some pent up emotions within a little wine. And _he_ just had to come in and see it. Katja didn't remember everything that she said, but what she did…

_Fuck_.

Gathering some courage, she made her way, reluctantly, to his office – apologizing for her behavior. Her un-leaderly-ness.

Then, he just… brushed it off. Saying, "Well, given all that's happened, it's understandable that you needed some release. Though, try not to have that release in the form of a bottle."

Really? Just like that?

That same morning during their war meeting, the talks of adverting Empress Celene's impending assassination began. The political stance within Orlais in dire straits. A civil war between the Empress and Grand Duke Gaspard for the throne. More than likely Corypheus would be using this chaos as a means to 'restore' Tevinter. Any attempts of reaching the Empress to warn her were met with deaf ears and out-maneuvers. Josephine was trying to secure a place with the peace talks that were to convene at a Grand Masquerade at the Winter Place. However, these peace talks were far off, neither side of the civil war wanting to convene. And that bit was left as it was.

Until then, scouts were sent off to the Exalted Plains. The small hope that they could quell the fighting enough to inspire peace between the civil war. Along with the fact that red templars have been spotted in the area. Meeting adjourned.

Sitting in contemplation within her quarters in Skyhold.

Having some time to process and breathe. She really needed it. The last few weeks – first Redcliffe, the disaster at Haven, trekking through the wilderness with hundreds of people following her, and the business of leading the Skyhold operations. Katja needed time to process it. _Without_ the aid of a bottle. Maybe Dorian was rubbing too much on her.

Coming to terms with her new niche in the world. She-Who-Walks-Alone, indeed.

Glad for the day to herself.

Often thinking back to the Commander. Twice he saved her life and twice he made his feelings known. At the least his inner desire for her. She would be a total lark not to admit that she had a desire for him as well. However, she was uncertain. Once again.

It wasn't the carnal desire that she was uncertain with. She was familiar with that. Although, one-time tumbles and trysts with farmer's sons and daughters wouldn't go along with her underlining feelings.

They were romantic in nature.

_What the fuck do I know of romance?_

Katja defiantly desired his body. She didn't object throwing off his armor and rutting him until he couldn't see straight. Or him coming on to her leaving her unable to stand. His hot, seed coating her core and the look of ecstasy on his face. Muscles tightening hard at the force of the orgasm. The mental image caused her to shiver, her wet, heat was evident.

Those were the _only_ romantic notions that she was aware of.

Stray thoughts going back to the alternate future when Cullen kissed her came to her mind. Heat pooling within her body at the thought. She _really_ liked that. None of her past 'lovers' ever kissed her like that. They were neither pleasant nor unpleasant – it was just kissing.

_Perhaps I need some research on romance?_

The only place that would be 'romantic' in Skyhold would be the Tavern at night. One of the first few places that was given full construction rights since their arrival. Partly due to Bull's and Sera's combined force of negotiations. She would notice couples there after-hours on these events called 'dates'. Logically concluding that it was a normal activity for couples who were romantically involved. A process called 'courting'.

Deciding that it would be a start on her journey of 'romance' and 'courtship', she garbed herself plainly and waited for night to arrive. Using her roguish skills, she stealthily made her way from her quarters to the upper-most floor of the Tavern. Hiding away in the darkest corner, watching the couples. Cole was making himself scarce within his usual space.

One particular couple caught her eye. It was two of Leliana's spies. Merrily laughing, talking and drinking. Caressing each other. Kissing each other. Alone in their space despite the crowd.

Liking the idea of Cullen and her doing the same sort of activities.

Following the two as they exited the Tavern. They didn't go far. They went behind the Tavern, the dark alcove providing small light and privacy. Watching them from the dark, shadowy side of the roof, flattening her body. Eyes curious as to what they were doing.

It didn't take her long to know what they were planning.

She would have left it at that, but decided for thoroughness sake, to keep watching.

Paying attention to the way the man would kiss her. Heated gasps as their mouths formed together. Her response to the intimate contact. Movements slow and languid. Hands roaming their clothed bodies, fisting the other's hair. After a time the male removed the woman's pants halfway down her thigh. Even in the dim light, Katja saw the moistness, her want for him. Katja thought he would do the same to himself, but instead he lowered his body until he knelt before her. Katja's eyes bugged out.

He. Kissing. Her. There.

From the woman's reaction it was most certainly pleasurable. She arched and moaned loudly until she put her hand over her mouth to stifle it. Hearing the man groan, also receiving pleasure from the act as well. His mouth would cup and lick her pleasure nub – lips tight around the flesh. The woman's wetness sliding down her shaking thighs. The man lifted his right hand and placed it between her moistness, and from Katja's hearing, he inserted some of those fingers within her. The slickness from the penetration and thrusting of the digits.

The woman moaned louder through her bitten hand. Rolling and meeting the man's mouth and fingers with her hips. Her other hand clenching and unclenching the man's hair. With one final cry the woman came. With fervor the man continued to kiss her there. No doubt to taste her orgasm.

After a while, the man met her lips. Having her taste herself on his tongue. Holding each other tight. For the longest time, they stayed like that. Until, after an unspoken consent, the woman pulled her pants back up. The both of them exiting the alcove with their hands holding.

For a moment she stayed still until she was ready to move. Her nether region hot and throbbing, a little uncomfortable from the wetness coating her smalls. Breathing and shaking it off, she made she same roguish trek back to her quarters.

The last several hours replaying in her head as she undressed to put on her night clothes. Her smalls were soaked. Using her foot to toss them into a heap with the rest of her clothes. Feeling rather lazy about it.

Going inside her covers on her bed, feeling the warmth.

She couldn't close her eyes without thinking about the couple in the alcove. When she did, the image of Cullen kissing her nub until she orgasmed – bright and vivid.

_Liking_ the idea.

If there was one good thing with her sensory memory, was her very vivid and picture-like imagination.

Rolling with her fantasy.

Removing the offending under shirt, and burying herself deeper within her bed sheets. Closing her eyes, the image of Cullen came to mind. Naked and willing and desirable. Skin hot to the touch, beads of sweat on his forehead, mouth plumb from kissing, his bronze eyes drunk with desire, and his manhood rapt at attention – leaking pearls of precum. Planting small kisses down her naked body, briefly stopping at her breasts to kiss and lick her nipples before continuing downward.

Oh those sweet lips, the tickling of the rough skin from his scar and the scratching from his stubble – delicious.

Heat and electricity. Katja's core wet and hot and throbbing.

Making to his destination. Kissing tenderly her nether lips. Gasping at the sensation – losing her breath. His lips were so warm. Licking languidly around her sensitive nub. Rolling her head back from the tease. Feeling the soft, pliable appendage along with his hot breath caused a shutter up her spine.

Satisfied with his teasing, planting a firm kiss on her pleasure spot. She stopped breathing. Cullen's warm, slightly chapped lips and tender tongue taking turns rolling it around. Taking turns sucking firmly and soft kisses. Arching high at the sensation. His large, warrior hands, holding her legs up and apart. Continuing his work with better access. Eventually breathing again – moaning and groaning. Wanting it so much. Sweat pouring off her body. Too hot. Too hot.

One of his hands, his right, made its soft trek down her thigh. The rough digits teased her slick core entrance. Playing with the soft ring. Until two entered her. Sliding in and out with the wet popping sounds. Touching and exploring her soft core. Tightening herself to keep the sensation. Loving that he was _inside_ her. Part of _him_ was _touching_ her.

The combination of his mouth and fingers were too much for her and she came. Orgasming so hard lights danced in her vision. Catching her breath after a few moments. Lowering her legs and pulling her hands away from her neither region – slick from her ministrations. Pushing the covers away from her. Too hot to need them. The cool night air a blessed relief from the self-made heat.

Falling asleep satisfied.

Katja spent the next few nights watching and gathering information for Operation Romance. After the last night, she determined she couldn't learn any more than what was presented to her. The 'dates' would often start the same and end the same. Honestly not believing that could be all there was to it. Perhaps it would different if Cullen were involved within these 'dates'. Then, she and fantasy-Cullen would have their 'alone time'.

Making the mental note to try that out.

Then she realized that Varric had a romance novel called 'Swords and Shields'. That piqued her interest. Their library had a few copies and she decided to read them.

Now she determined a 'Part Two' of her Operation was in order. She was going to test her mind and emotional reaction to the Commander's proximity. Fully knowing her bodies reaction. After all, if she were consenting to going deeper within her idea of what 'romance' or 'courting' was, it would be best to see it at all angles.

The morning of her decision a messenger came to her quarters. The Commander is asking for her attention within his quarters.

A dirty thought came to mind.

After sending the messenger on his way, she got dressed and came within the Commander's quarters.

He had picked one of the battlement towers as his new office. It was still being renovated and furnished with needed shelves and functional décor. Cullen was hunched over his large desk which was cluttered with neat piles of papers and reports. A small kit filled with tools and two small bottles having his attention. Feeling a pull from those bottles.

Lifting himself from his hunched position, fisting his chest in respect.

This didn't seem good. She didn't read faces well but she felt from the aura around him that this was bad.

Concern welling in her chest. Fighting the urge to hold him. Taking note of her reaction.

"Is everything alright Commander?" She asked.

"Yes Inquisitor. I've worked with Leliana to see where the red templars came from: Therinfall Redoubt. From the reports the templars were fed red lyrium until they turned. Samson took over once their corruption was complete."

_Oh. Yes. That. _Pains within her for withholding that information back at Haven. _I lied to them._

"You mentioned you knew Samson." She inquired, keeping her shame to herself.

"Yes. He was a templar in Kirkwall. Well, until he was expelled. I knew he was an addict, but this – red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium from the Chantry. It's power comes with a terrible madness."

"Haven was proof enough Commander."

He nodded, "We cannot allow them to gain strength. If you happen to find any information on your journeys that would help find where they are smuggling the red lyrium, it would be immensely valuable. But be careful, anything connected to Samson is sure to be guarded."

"Of course Commander, we wouldn't want this to be too easy." Katja clasped her hands, a question forming in her mind. Hoping she wasn't poking too deep. "This lyrium addiction Samson has: Is it common for templars?"

The Commander's stone face seemed to blanch at the question. Katja internally trembled at his reaction. Believing she prodded too deep with her question. Her search for information on the Commander and her reaction to him leading down a bad road. That any chance she had of 'courting' or 'romancing' him were being cut off.

"As leader of the Inquisition you," he sighed, "There is something I must tell you. I've been meaning to inform you that –" he sighed again, looking her in the eye, holding the hilt of his sword.

Alarm bells ringing in her mind, "This… sounds ominous Commander. You have my attention."

His face going into the 'sad' category; throat tightened from a hard swallow. "Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well." Going back to his hunched position over the small kit on the desk, "Those cut off suffer – some go mad, others die. We've secured a reliable source for the templars here. But I… no longer take it."

Katja cocked her eyebrows. Well, he technically _hasn't_ told her that.

"I know you're not." She said.

"You –" Raising himself up to look at her with a serious expression, " How could you – Did Cassandra –"

Katja crossed her arms, "All I had to do was pay attention. I've known since I pulled you out of the Fade. At first I was confused as to why your Veil-pull felt so small – especially from the Fade. Then it clicked. Does Cassandra know?"

"Ah –" The Commander couldn't speak for a moment, looking at her in a 'surprise' fashion, "You can… detect the Veil from a templar by their lyrium?"

"Well… yes. Mages as well. Although there's feel different. Can't you? Oh, ah, well," Feeling slightly embarrassed, "not you. Not any more I suppose, but other templars. And you still haven't answered my question about Cassandra. Or the addiction thing."

The Commander just looked at her. He was defiantly sporting a 'surprise' look. Feeling like she was a new species of fruit that he didn't know if he should try to eat.

"I see now! That's how you managed to avoid being caught by templars for almost eighteen years."

Brakes crunched in her head, "Ah, how do you know that Commander?" A sudden memory popped in her head, "You overheard my chat with Cassandra!"

The Commander retracted a little bit like he got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.

She chuckled lightly, "I guess it doesn't matter now." Rolling her eyes, "Now that I think of it those dummies were next to your territory. I was practically asking you to overhear." She was annoyed that he had overheard, but decided that she would have told him that anyway. "And I'm guessing that ability isn't… normal."

Great another thing that singles her out. Feeling rather small and self-conscious under his bronze gaze.

"Am I right that to guess that you stopped taking it when you joined the Inquisition?" She asked. "Is that why Cassandra knows?"

Cullen's face went soft and looked away from her to the lyrium kit.

"Yes. I asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised I will be relieved from duty. After what happened in Kirkwall… I just couldn't anymore. I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer." He sounded more certain to her.

The Commander continued, "And to answer your first question: Lyrium addiction is… present within every templar. Though there are regulations dictating our intake to curb it. Though it pains me to say those who are in charge of the lyrium regulation have become… lax on their duty. Allowing addicts like Samson to form."

Katja's softening heart needed to know, "What of you?"

Katja saw his throat tighten, his eyes darting away from her, lips becoming pinched. She done fucked up. Her social inadequacies slapping her in the face.

"I'm sorry!" She blurted out. "I didn't mean to pry."

His liquid bronze eyes met her's and all she wanted was to hold him – to whisper kind reassurances. When he spoke it was soft and filled with sorrow, "There were times that I wanted to drown myself with the song of lyrium. To forget.

"I've been working with Knight-Commander Aedelric to reinforce the regulations of lyrium for the templars here. To keep those addictions in check. There's been plenty resistance, but it's gaining some ground."

"Are you in pain?"

"Whatever the suffering I accept it."

Feeling soft, mucky puddles within her belly form. Not fighting the instinct to walk to the Commander and… hug him. It was light and brief. Instead of those soft feelings to dissipate like she assumed, they only intensified. Touching him and the close proximity. Her heart hammered in her chest. Retracting her arms like she hurt herself. It was a similar feeling when she first hugged him when he returned Cat's Tooth to her.

Heat flaring within herself, "I, ah, respect what you are doing." Daring herself to look up at him.

Her neutral mask almost breaking.

Cullen had a 'surprise' look on his face but the hard edges were so soft. Lips slightly parted. Bronze eyes liquid smooth. A similar face of satisfaction after a night of rutting.

Swallowing hard, trying to find her voice. Clearing her throat she said, "I believe in you."

The surprise look fading leaving nothing but the soft expression on his face. His mouth curling crookedly. A faint redness ghosting his cheeks. Katja absolutely wanted to _eat_ him. Devour his lips into herself.

Scared, she rushed out. Leaving a bewildered Commander.

Immediately reprimanding herself for acting out like that.

_You're supposed to gather information! Not flailing your arms like a fool!_

Although she could admit that later that night, the smooth prickles of her touching him were pleasing enough. Remembering the smell of dried thyme.

* * *

><p>The Commander was utterly bewildered and feeling rather small of himself.<p>

He dared speak of his affliction so openly, even though it caused him great pain to do so. To _her_. And she… didn't retract from him. It was as he had hoped. Katja accepted him. Feeling a little better that he confided his affliction. Though he didn't need to go so far into his constant fight of the withdrawal – he couldn't deny her inquiry of his own past pain with it. It was safe with her.

_She believes in me._ That gave him a little boost in his dwindling confidence of the withdrawal pains. He heard the same from Cassandra, but from her – it gave him strength. Never wanting to disappoint her.

That night he went to bed a little more soundly even though the bad dreams still came. After he awoke in the morning, he said a silent prayer of her safe return. She had left earlier that morning with her companions into the Exalted Plains.

A messenger arrived mid-morning: Mother Giselle wanted an audience with him and the other commanders within the war room.

That gave the Commander pause. Why would she need an audience with him and the other commanders?

Dismissing the messenger, he left his office and made a bee-line the war room. The other commanders – Josephine and Leliana – were in attendance along with Mother Giselle. The commander's having a curious and bewildered expression on the impromptu meeting.

"Thank you all for coming," Mother Giselle started, "I know this seems rather strange that I asked you all to come so sudden. However, it concerns the Lady Inquisitor."

The Commander raised his brows, has something happened to her? She just left that morning. Must be something else.

"Is something wrong Mother Giselle?" asked Leliana.

"I am unsure Lady Leliana. I received a letter from her parents, more specifically her father, this morning. Asking about her. Wanting to see if she would be… willing to see them."

"That is rather strange for them to come to you." Josephine remarked.

"Indeed. They seemed afraid of her rejecting them in the letter. They've also stated that you, Lady Ambassador, know something of it."

The Commander and spymaster looked queerly at her.

She sighed, explaining, "Back at Haven, I received a letter from the Trevelyan's, wanting to confirm if Lady Katja really was their daughter. I sent a detailed letter about her in return. Considering her 'disappearance' from them when she was a child. A return letter was received pledging their support, although they asked that it be kept from her ears. They asked, in return, that I keep an eye on her and send letters about her health."

Mother Giselle nodded, "Yes. It seems as though they are trying to reach out to her. I don't think there is any malice in their intentions of a reunion – of parents seeking out their child. However, this goes beyond of my knowledge. I don't know her very well personally and her being a noble and the Inquisitor complicates matters."

The Commander furrowed his brows, "So you are asking us to convince her?" Remembering when Josephine asked her about her family name back at Haven – her brief, seething anger.

She shook her head, "No. But, perhaps it would be best if you three read the letter he sent me."

Procuring the folded parchment from her side pocket and presenting it to the three commanders. Each took their turn reading it.

_To: Mother Giselle of the Inquisition_

_I know that this letter may seem strange to you. However, I ask that you keep it in your heart if you must. By now I'm sure you know that Katja Trevelyan is my daughter. It's been years since the last that I looked on her – I still remember when she was a wild, willful, rambunctious child before her time at the Ostwick Circle. An event that forced her to leave and remain hidden even from us. I'm sure that she still harbors ill feelings toward us for sending her._

_I fear that she may hardly remember her father, but I ask that you see if she would be willing to see both I and her mother. After her brother left to join the templars, she became our pride. She is our only daughter, our only heir left to the world. We never dreamed of having another child after her brother. The Maker sent her to us, a blessed child. It has taken many sleepless nights gathering courage to even think of seeing her. Please if you would, see if it's possible. The ambassador, Lady Montilyet, has a little information on our predicament with her._

_I would not force it on my Katja, she was always willful when she put her mind to something. Though, even if she doesn't want to see us, know that whatever the Inquisition needs the Trevelyan House will always give full support. Use whatever discretion you deem fit Mother Giselle._

_From: Roderick Gregory II; the Head of House Trevelyan; Teyrn of Ostwick; and Father of Katja Ruthine I, the Heir of House Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste and Inquisitor of the Inquisition_

The commander's looked at each other – a mixture of sadness and uncertainty.

Josephine addressed the Mother, "Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We will consider their request."

She nodded, "I pray that a reunion comes and that it goes well between them." With that she left the war room, leaving the commanders behind.

"What do you two think?" asked Josephine, "Thoughts?"

Leliana sighed, "Cassandra told me her brief story back at Haven." With that she recanted what information Cassandra pried from Katja. "It has been eighteen years since they seen each other. I'd be like two strangers seeing each other. All we can do is tell her about it."

"What of you Commander? You've been a little quiet." Josephine looked in his direction.

He didn't really know what to say. Perhaps their intentions were noble like Mother Giselle believed. He certainly hope so. Not really knowing what to do in this sort of situation.

_What kind of man would I be if I spent the majority of my life on the run since childhood without the guidance of my parents?_

"All we can do is inform her of their intentions, like Leliana said. Whether she wants to see them is up to her."

The other's nodded.

"Commander, hold on to the letter. We'll present it to her on her return."

He felt the beginnings of a flush. He sighed, "Alright."

* * *

><p>The evening came, it was the hour of the owl. The people of Skyhold were fast asleep. The night crew, a select few patrolled the grounds. A quiet and uneventful task.<p>

The templar received an anonymous note earlier that afternoon to meet him in an unrenovated battlement tower during the hour of the owl. The whole thing said 'trap', but his instincts told him something else was at play. The large templar waited for whoever sent the note. Cloaked in darkness and the only source of light was the full moon that peeked through the window and part of the collapsed roof.

He didn't have to wait long. She came out of the darkness, wearing her usual armor and lavender hood. Flecks of red hair protruding out of the hood.

He fisted his chest in respect. "Why have you summoned me Sister at this time of night?"

Always getting straight to the point.

"It seems that Mother Giselle received an important letter regarding the Inquisitor. Perhaps you know something of the senders."

His face hard as iron, nodded. "I do."

"I should hope so, a little more than what you have led on to your peers."

The templar let out a baritone chuckle, "Yes, I am aware of those actions Sister. However, you would also know that templars let go of familial titles when they join the Order."

"Oh? But it seems as though you are bending that rule."

He shook his head in annoyance, "I said 'familial titles' not family. For that I have _never_ forgotten."

"Though it seems you are content on letting her go on without knowing who you are."

Sighing wearily, "I made a promise. Even if she never knows about it. Never knowing who I am. It has been eighteen years since she last saw me, when I last saw her. I was eighteen and she was seven. It is unsurprising she hasn't recognized me."

"Though you recognized her?"

"Oh yes. Big brothers never forget their wild, runt sisters."

"And the senders of the letter?"

"I have discussed it with them. They truly want to see her. They are up in age Sister and mother is very ill. It would do them good to see each other again. To have her know the truth."

The Sister raised a perceiving brow. "What truth would that be?"

"They never stopped looking for her, never stopped loving her. If you are as good as you say, you have an inkling as to why she escaped the Ostwick Circle and part of the reason why she was never found."

"I have my suspicions as to what happened to her at the Circle."

"Then let me be clear Sister: He messed with the wrong child. It went on long enough with him. She was his last, but wasn't the first. Those that knew and did nothing have meet their fate as well. Though those came after."

"Thanks to you?"

He nodded. "Along with some parental aid."

* * *

><p>It had taken Katja and the Inquisition three long weeks to quell some of the fighting in the Exalted Plains. Both sides were indebted to the Inquisition – playing the neutral party that gave aid to the wounded and help those refugees that called the Plains home. Along with the same song and dance of closing rifts and fighting the red templars. There were tense moments where both sides wanted her to join their ranks, petty squabbles vying for her attention or sending threats to stop treating their 'enemy' but she dismissed them. She saw no point in dragging the Inquisition into a civil war that they had no business fighting. Point blank telling them so in two separate letters.<p>

Feeling ever better with being in the castle walls. Though her thoughts went to the Commander. Searching him out after changing to something more casual and loose fitting than her armor.

She heard from Varric that Cullen was within the gardens having a chess match with Dorian.

That got her excited. He plays chess!

A whole other realm opened up within Katja. She was going to see him within a pure strategy environment. The types of moves played unlocking mental barriers of a person's psyche.

Walking to the gardens, although it would be border lining on jogging. Slowing steadily once they were within her sights. Quietly walking up.

"Gloat all you like I've got this one." Cullen remarked while moving a piece. Focused on the game.

"Are you _sassing_ me Commander, I didn't know you had it in you." Dorian said sarcastically while moving a piece of his own.

Cullen sighed while holding one of his pieces, "Why do I even bother –" he noticed her staring suddenly, "Inquisitor!" startled he started to stand, dropping his piece. Looking like a cornered animal.

"Oh? Does this mean I win?" Dorian smirked.

Cullen sat back down, eyes darting between her and the board.

Tilting her head, eyes focused on the board, "Play nice you two." She dryly said.

Dorian smirked and cocked a brow, "I'm _always_ nice."

The Commander sighed, returning the piece he dropped to the position he wanted it. Relaxing a bit.

Dorian huffed, "You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory you'll feel much better." Placing his piece.

If the Commander moved that piece –

He did, "Oh really because I just won. And I feel fine." Smugly rubbing it in.

Dorian raised his hands in defeat, "Don't be so smug. There be no living with you." He got up and leaving the two of them.

The Commander grinned crookedly while turning to face her.

Katja filed in her skipped heartbeat to seeing the grin.

"I should return to my duties as well. Unless… you would care for a game?"

_Yes! Yes! Fuck yes!_

"I would love to." She calmly tried to say, though she nearly skipped to her side of the board.

"I used to play this with my sister," he said while arranging the pieces to their respected positions, "She would get this stuck up grin when she would win. Which was _all_ the time. My brother and I practiced for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won. Between serving the templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays." The last piece arranged.

He nodded for her to make the first move.

Absorbing the information. Full strategy mode activated. He was showing his expertise at the game. Trying to throw her off. Give her cold feet. Rapporting his experience. His talent. Despite the constant victories of an opponent he would persist. Keeping at the back of her mind the purpose of the game was for information. Not for her to win necessarily.

Good play regardless.

"You have siblings?" She asked.

"Two sisters and a brother."

"Where are they now?" She asked before moving a little piece.

Wanting to psychologically rattle him a little. His lack of knowledge of his family would lead to a mistake or a counter-move on her.

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight. Ah, it's my turn."

He dismissed her physiological attack. Moving a knight.

Bold or reckless.

"Let's see what your made of Commander."

Turns out he used that knight as a sacrifice to get to her Bishop via a pawn. Cunning. Willing to make a sacrifice to take out a larger danger.

Dragging the game on well into the afternoon. Gaining loads of information on him. Though he did have a… distracting mannerism. Noticing that when he was about to play a good counter-move, he would… lick his lips on the side with his scar.

The action eliciting a naughty notion within her. Of her fantasy of him using that nimble appendage that would make her as moist as his tongue did to his lips. Clinching her legs together to keep her throbbing desire at bay. Though she wouldn't mind if he would take her as a spoil of victory, or the other way around. The garden's flowers were blossoming nicely and the warm glow of the afternoon was pleasant.

Controlling her heated desire enough to continue. Allowing, as part of their game, information on her to be released to his ears. He's earned trust from her.

"How was your time in the Hinderlands? Before the Conclave?" Cullen inquired.

"It was rather peaceful. Simple in comparison. Most of my days were spent training the lessons Havardr taught me in the Fade. Sometimes I went on adventures to test my skills. To improve my self-mastery."

"Adventures? To where?"

Thinking about which one to relate, "Well I met a talking oak tree in the Brecilian Forest. Such a weird tree. He kept speaking in rhymes. Called himself The Grand Oak. My original purpose to go there was under Havardr's instruction. The Grand Oak was a friend of his."

The Commander raised both eye-brows, "A talking oak tree?"

Katja nodded, "Oh yes. Anyway, he was so kind to me – he called me Sapling – on account my short stature and youth. He would often lift me up and let me sit on his shoulder, from there I could see the forest for miles. I was thirteen and stayed as his 'Sapling' for two years.

"As a test to my growing abilities, he took me to an old, abandoned elven ruin. Not the one in the eastern part that gets the most attention. But one that remained hidden from the elves and other prying eyes. I was to go inside and defeat the trials. Oak told me there was a twisted spirit that slept within the lowest part of the ruin and I was to slay it. Once I did so, I was to take the artifact the spirit had as proof of my success. As you can tell, I was successful. The skills that The Grand Oak taught me were very useful."

Cullen furrowed his brows, "What… kind of artifact was this?"

"It was an enchantment that mended and strengthened the Veil. It was unfortunately damaged beyond repair." Katja explained.

"So… you… defeated a dangerous and powerful demon in an ancient, elven temple, by yourself? At almost fifteen? That's incredible!"

Feeling pride well within her chest from his compliment.

Intelligent. Strategizer. Purposeful.

Noticing he would grin lightly when it was her turn. Her heart skipping lightly. Cullen did it enough for her to suspect that he was doing it on purpose. Trying to throw her off her game. Part of his strategy. His stratagem on her. Liking that he was noticing her mannerisms of her own subterfuge.

Two can play at that.

Shooting him a grin of her own.

Noticing that the tips of his ears would turn slightly red and his bronze eyes would dart away. Taking his hand to rub the back of his neck.

"This ah, is the longest that we've gone without discussing the Inquisition, or related matters. To be honest I appreciate the distraction."

Testing new ground on herself, "Then, we should do this more often."

This bronze eyes shimmered, "I would like that."

"Me too." Being completely honest with herself and him. This was the most fun that she has had in a long time.

He lowered his gaze and his expression softened, "You said that. We should… finished our game, right? My turn?"

She nodded and 'um-hum'd at him.

After several more moves, it was obvious she would win at that point, unable to delay it – as much as she liked it.

"I believe this game is yours. Well played. We shall have to try again sometime."

She gave him a smug grin, "Well you did have some good moves there Commander."

A loud bell rang through the stone walls.

"Ah, the evening meal is being served. I didn't realize it was that late."

"Me either Cullen. Let us go and see what is being served."

Both got up from their seats and walked together out of the lush garden. Noticing both Leliana and Josephine by the exit that lead to the main hall. The Commander frowned at their presence. Katja raised her eyebrow, thinking that something was wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N.]<strong> Thank you to the fav/followers SnowdropBeast, jen1027, laurieann . krueger . 7, Starbuckathena, and Mi'lae I'batir! Thank you for sending me lovely guest reviews Rae and Em.

Well, after 10 chapters have some smut action… even if it is fantasy smut. But hey, I think that's almost every Curlyites fantasy.

Mar artz for mae fiktion:

botticella89 . deviantart . (com/) art/Wild-Freedom-515847775

and

botticella89 . deviantart . (com/) art/What-516709507


	13. Doesn't Remind Me

Chapter 12: Doesn't Remind Me

The Commander saw the Ambassador and Spymaster. Panicked dread welling within his gut. The gleeful boyish warmth from their chess match dissipating.

_Surely they aren't going to tell her._

Katja arched her brow at them, but responded kindly, "Hello Josephine, Leliana. Were you two waiting?"

"Only a few moments Inquisitor." Josephine replied, "I dare say that was an exciting play of chess that I've ever seen."

Leliana grinned, "And you managed to outplay the Commander? Even I have difficulties with him. It takes a special kind of woman to tame him. Wouldn't you say Commander?"

The Commander managed to stifle his impending blush. Crossing his arms in ill-amusement.

"Well," said Katja (though he would _swear_ she was teasing him), "he almost had me after a few moves. All I had to do was be wily enough to curl his toes."

That earned a guffawed giggle from the two women. Katja just arched her brow at them confusedly and the Commander could feel the tips of his ears turn red. He absolutely hated that these two had a private amusement from his uncomfortable shyness and awkwardness. Though he was thankful that Katja seemed less inclined in that direction. She didn't seem fazed one bit. Either it was too subtle or she tolerated the teasing.

"And I'm sure the Commander's toes were curling like his hair from that ferocity on the board."

More muffled giggles.

Katja turned her head and her ruby eyes fixated on his blond mane. He frowned heavily. Getting the idea that she was mentally seeing the curls he tamed daily. She then cocked her head lamely.

"I have difficulty Cullen, thinking you have curly hair as Leliana describes."

"I don't -!"

"Are you saying it's naturally like that?" Leliana cut in.

Cullen swallowed hard, "Not… entirely."

"Well Commander, it looks nice today. Don't you think so Lady Inquisitor?" Asked Josephine.

After a few heated moments she replied, though it towards him she asked, "Why do you keep your curls down?"

The Commander wanted to melt right through the cracks of Skyhold – his blush making him feel hot.

"Inquisitor, the Commander wants to be seen put together. Surely taming some curls is part of that representation, no?"

Katja arched her brow at Leliana's answer. "That's silly. Commander, you're always put together. I fail to see how 'taming' your curls is a part of that. You could go to the training yard to watch the recruits, like you do every morning, naked and they'd still follow orders without blinking."

The two troublesome women howled at her response.

Katja sighed at their loud laughter. Making a face at the embarrassed Commander at their hysterics. "Um, did I say something funny?"

Cullen crossed his arms tighter and fought the urge to stomp away. "Maker's Breath… Can we _please_ speak of something else?"

After a few moments the two meddling women stifled their laughter – their cheeks red and the beginnings of tears in their eyes. Shaking the mirth out of their system. The women clearing their throats, a little raspy from the laughter.

"Although that was sorely needed Inquisitor, and unexpected, there is another matter that we needed to bring to your attention." Josephine interluded, "Let us discuss it on your quarters. And Commander," she looked at him solemnly, "would you get _that letter_ from your office please?"

The Commander clenched his jaw, muscles spasming. It was as he originally thought. His earlier embarrassment receding. Nodding and leaving stiffly to his office. Grateful that no one interrupted him to and from his office. A sense of dread in his being. Hoping for the best for Katja. Mentally saying a silent prayer.

Upon entering the Inquisitor's chambers, it was the first he had ever seen it. Clean, organized and lightly furnished. Five tightly packed bookcases lined the furthest wall. Her desk on the furthest corner, had stacks of neatly assorted reports. Her bed, a clean-cut if simple make, was in the middle of the left wall. The tall glass windows were open, allowing the colors of the setting sun to omit a golden and purple shadow glow. Colors minimal and calming. Dozens of potted plants, ranging from simple Elfroot to rare Amrita Vein. Having a strong earthy perfume seeping into the very stones. Small werelights that omitted warmth from their glow hovered over each plant. Certain that this was _not_ Josephine's choice for her chambers.

The three women were sitting quietly on the Inquisitor's small table a few paces away from the warm fire. One of her werelights hovered brightly over them – a little sun in the dimly lit space.

The Commander's locked feelings always rattled when he saw her like this. She was calm and glowing from both the setting sun and the werelight. Giving her an ethereal appearance. Reminding him just how beautiful she is. Feeling pains of guilt over the letter he had within his coat pocket.

_I am not worthy of her._

Taking the only chair left, which happened to be on the right side of the Inquisitor herself. Her ruby red eyes sparkled in the light. Twinkling in his skull. Looking at him curiously. Feeling as though his armor wasn't enough to hide from her. He always felt mentally naked around her.

Leliana cleared her throat from the growing tension.

"As we were discussing Katja, we consider ourselves friends when we aren't your advisers. Do you feel the same?"

She arched a dark grey brow at her, but nodded slowly. Possibly wondering where she was going with this line of discussion.

"Right," Josephine came to, "so as friends, we'd thought a certain topic should be discussed if you are willing to hear us out."

"I have a feeling this is going to be uncomfortable for me personally." Responded dryly. The Commander saw her throat tighten and her face turning blank.

"We don't mean it for it to be so Katja." Josephine continued, "We are just in a tough spot on how to put it, but I will be said plainly. But please, hear us out on it and we _are_ discussing it as _friends_."

Cullen saw her clasp her hands tightly at the line of discussion. He'd be wrong to say he wasn't feeling the same.

Josephine sighed before continuing, "The day of your departure to the Exalted Plains, Mother Giselle received a letter in which she approached us on how to deal with what it contained. The sender of the letter was from… your father."

Her reaction, or lack thereof was instantaneous. She clasped her hands tighter and her expression went stoic. She was still. Turning her head just so slightly to look past them – gazing as something in the distance. It was probably him, but he thought that the werelights flickered minutely. The other commanders could feel something churn dangerously within the room. Cullen didn't think that she would do anything dangerous, but he couldn't help but share similar unease. He could feel his heart begin to race.

"He… ah," Josephine was actually stammering, "It would be best that you read the letter. We don't believe he means any harm. Just… remember we are here for you Katja, as friends." She turned to him and stiffly nodded.

Swallowing the lump in his throat he procured the letter from its place in his coat and offered it to Katja. Her distant, ruby eyes on him. Feeling as though he were being physically compressed under her gaze. Tendrils of actual fear creeping in his bones. She looked like an omnipotent being peeling his skin to expose his true self. Electricity punctuating in his nerves.

Her eyes lowered to the offending letter in his gloved hand. Considering to actually touch it, hold it, read it. Until finally, to actually do that. Her attention focused on the runes on the parchment.

The rattled Commander took a brief second to glance at the other two commanders. In their own way, they were just as shaken by her reaction. The werelight flickered again.

He heard a crunching noise from his left – to find that Katja was crumpling the letter. The hand glowed bright as he felt her mana surge, setting the paper on fire. Harsh and flaring bright – the ripples tearing bitterly with anger. The paper curled and burned black and flecked it's withering ashes away. Just as sudden as she set the letter on fire did it dissipate. The Commander kept still, old memories flashing just as bright in his mind. Calming himself to remember where he was. Muscles shaking.

He needed to say something.

"Katja –"

Cut short as she flew out of her chair – knocking it down – and stomping to her open balcony. Rising just as quickly to follow her. The other two were just as quick. Dimly aware of the popping werelights. A moment too late as Katja started to climb up the stone and mortar of Skyhold. Her actions quick and deliberate.

"Katja come back down!" Cullen called out to her, afraid of her falling. That in her distress she doomed herself.

The other two called just as loud as he, but Katja paid no mind to them. As soon she pulled herself one last time and she was gone from sight, on top of the roof. Hearing the receding clinking from her shoes contacting with the tiles.

Hating the whole situation. That hadn't been what he, or anyone else, was hoping for. Loathing himself for thinking that she would be receptive of seeing her parents.

"That… wasn't what I was hoping for." Right on the head Josephine.

"Let us give her some time." Leliana responded, "That was the first contact she has had with her parents in eighteen years. I'm sure she is in shock over it."

The Commander shook his head, "Pray that she doesn't hurt herself."

"No, I doubt it. She's too sure-footed for that."

"That wasn't what I was talking of."

Unable to do anything more, the commanders departed. Solemn and weary. Too drained from the experience the Commander couldn't eat the evening meal. He couldn't even get one report to stay within his head once he returned to his office. Thoughts thinking of Katja's circumstance. Feeling rather foolish about it. He didn't know or understand the specifics of their transpiring that led to her ill-feelings. Whatever it was, it was enough bitterness that it carried with her throughout her life.

Bitterness that the Commander understood from so long ago. The nightmares within his dreams were his reminders.

Well into the evening, the half-moon glowed and the stars shimmered. Most of Skyhold had retired and those that hadn't were at the Tavern. If the Commander could focus his bronze eyes, he could see faintly her silhouette on Skyhold's roof. A shimmer of her moon-hair. Thinking a soft prayer of her well-being.

Deciding that, since his paper work wasn't going to get any further along, he would walk the battlements. The night was cool and lacking it's bite.

The soft music from a lute player from the Tavern echoed gently as he walked past. A juxtaposition tune to the day's events. Starting off joyful and turning melancholic. Katja's calm face the perfect marriage to the corded strings.

_She's in the strings. Cording within the stones._ He absently thought. Surprised at the drifting romantic notions echoing in his mind.

The Tavern behind him now as he ran into the mysterious Cole. Looking out to the roof of Skyhold. Taking a guess as to whom he was looking out at. He didn't personally think it was a good idea to have the boy, spirit, whatever he was within Skyhold. However, he will respect the Inquisitor's decision. The boy hadn't harmed anyone that he was aware of and he seemed genuine in his quest to help them. Old training that had ingrained into his psyche was hard to break.

"She wants to forgive them."

His words stopping the Commander from his walk. Arching his brows at the strange boy.

"Who?" He asked.

"The Herald, Katja. It hurts to hear her though. She won't let me near her. Selfish with her hurt."

The Commander sighed. It was obvious that what happened earlier hurt her.

"She won't say."

"She doesn't need to Commander. We know when she hurts." He physically hugged himself, head downcast, "A child locked inside. Nowhere to climb. Don't let them take me. I promise I won't burn the drapery again. It's my fault. If only I was a better daughter. I shame them. _Betrayal_."

Cullen's expression slackened as Cole took steps back like he had been struck. His boney hands rubbing his temples. This was the part that gave him pause around the boy. His ability to know one's hurts. Their pain. And he just in a way, told him hers.

"Was… was that private? I haven't gotten what it means for 'private' and 'public' yet."

Cullen sighed, "It's alright Cole. Technically that was private."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I think it's okay if I tell you that though. You want to help her too. You help remind her."

He physically stiffened at Cole. "Remind her?"

Instead of explaining, he drifted off, "She feels like she did back at Haven but like an in-between self. A heaviness in her mind. She was lighter when she as coming out of the snow after. Lighter still when she held you. Burdens released. Goodness remembered. The earthy smell of dried thyme. Promise me Little Great Bear."

"I… don't understand Cole."

"You do understand a little but you don't like what it may mean. She remembers like you remember that not all mages were like Uldred. The banishing of the Flaming Sword for her. Seeing the flesh and blood and not the brand."

He wanted to retract from the conversation, especially since he brought up _that_ unpleasantness from his past. Calming himself, releasing the memories away within his mind. Keeping himself _here_.

_I see you._ Her voice rang softly within his mind. Pushing the unpleasant memories away. Distant notions within forming pathways that connected.

She did seem rather calmer and less inclined of her usual neutrality around him – softer even. Remembering their chess match from earlier that day. He felt like a schoolboy that had his crush sit next to him during lessons. Excitement tickling his bones. Hours playing and talking. He saw her easiness and glimpses of mischievousness of her moves on him. When she smiled at him… Sweet Andraste.

His infatuation getting the better of him. Mentally reprimanding himself. Still worried over her wellbeing.

"Will she be alright?" He asked.

"I don't know Cullen. She hurts when she thinks of them but she's happy too. Maybe talking to them may help. She realizes how she misses them. But she doesn't know if she holds something that is no longer there."

The Commander swallowed the lump in his throat. "She would have answers."

The boy nodded, "She likes certainty."

The Commander finished his walk of the battlements before retiring for that night. Rolling within his bed covers without anything on. Thoughts still on Katja as he closed his eyes. Wanting nothing more than to hold her. To give her that certainty that he cared for her and to do the right thing. Feeling her within his arms – her warmth seeping into is skin. Soft moon hair caressing his cheek and nose. The sweet delicate smell of dew grass and pine needles.

Thoughts drifting – curious of the notion to actually… kiss her.

As their embrace slowly parted, he tilted his head to kiss her forehead then her cheek before retracting. Too shy to descend to her dragonthorn berry red lips; full and all too tempting. Her sweet face in a surprise 'O' but quickly turned to mischievous. Eyes twinkling like rubies.

"Is that all my Commander has for me?" She would say. "I.. wouldn't mind." Words caressing his skin and ear.

Shy desire sending gooseprickles into his nerves. "You wouldn't my Lady?"

"It's' Katja' remember Cullen? And no, I wouldn't." It was then she leaned up, and her lips touched his. Her eyes glistening through half-lidded lashes. Divine and happy; aching for him.

Skin igniting in sweet electricity. Flutters danced within his stomach and his chest constricted. Softly gasping at the contact, opening his mouth lightly to take in her lower lip. Heat burning away his trepid shyness. Touching his thoughts in a corded embrace. Stirring his nether region in locked passion.

All too soon the kiss lost contact.

Her face had a slight pinkness from the kiss. A small smile from the full lips that had just kissed his. Wanting her so very much.

"You don't regret kissing me do you?"

"No! No. Not at all." He responded quietly before sudden boldness seized him and he kissed her back.

She omitted a gasp of surprise, but was quickly put away as she eagerly reciprocated. Her fingers twirling within his hair – wanting a deeper kiss as she opened her lips. Holding her tightly within his arms, he tentively flicked his tongue on hers. Causing a shiver to run down his spine and nestle within his groin. Katja gasped, a deeper flush on her tan cheeks. Mimicking the action with his and kissing his scar as well.

Getting bolder, he kissed her lower lip, sucking lightly into his mouth – running his tongue on the soft flesh. Katja, at the same time, did similar motions with his upper lip. Her breathing desperate. Hands clutching tightly on his wheat colored hair. Feeling her trembles on her legs. His heart hammered loudly in his ears. When he looked in to her eyes – desire building in himself – they were dark and bright at the same time. His fire was her fire.

Opening his mouth slightly, she took the opportunity to twine her tongue with his. Falling with it; deepening their shared passion. Exploring their mouths. Her gasps were sweeter than a snagged treat from a mother's kitchen. His hands shyly ran down her curved spine. Feeling the heat that lay just beneath her shirt and his gloves.

Very much hating his armor at this point.

All too soon they had to stop for air. He felt like melting right into her. Clothes beginning to stick to his burning skin. His member hot and wanting more – straining against his leather trousers.

Leaving small kisses in her cheek, descending as far as he could go to her neck. Her breath on his ear.

"Please." She hoarsely whispered. Heat flaring again in his already burning nerves. Making the hairs on his neck stand up. "You don't have to ask."

Looking back at her from his kisses. Her face pleading with him wanting what he wanted to.

"I… suppose not. I want –" she kissed him, it was a small peck to stop his words.

"Do I have to order you Commander?"

Grinning at her words. In a deft and fast moment, sweeping her off her feet. Katja elicited a surprise yelp but chucked at his action. Quickly finding his bed and settling her on it like she was Andraste herself. Without reservation, she pulled off her shirt, exposing her naked torso. His bronze eyes couldn't tear away from her perfection.

She chuckled, "Something you like my Commander?"

Meeting her mischievous eyes, he grinned back at her, "Everything."

With that, he set out to disrobe himself. Tossing his offending leather shirt and breastplate. Meeting her in the same state of undress. Her eyes giving him the same heated look he had just moments before gave her. Meeting her at her side he languidly kissed her tempting lips. Gently exploring her body with his hands and she the same.

Cupping her mounds, running his thumb across the pert nipple and then pinching it. Earning him an excited gasp. Continuing his trek, running into the offending cloth of her trousers. Undoing the button, giving him room to lower his hand down. Katja gasped loudly and shivered as he cupped her womanly mound. Feeling the soft downy hair, slickness and heat from her nether lips. Running his fingers gently, teasingly across the flesh. Finding more of the heat and slickness. She moaned and clutched tighter at his shoulders. He started kissing her neck as he continued to tease her nether lips.

Rubbing in small, caressing circles around her pearl – gracing him with delicious moans from her lips. Her hips rocking into his hand.

"Yes Cullen." She half-moaned half whispered into his ear.

Kicking off her flat shoes, loudly thunking on the floor, and her long fingers pulled her trousers and small clothes lower. Exposing his mischievous hand and her silky womanly mound. Pushing and kicking her trousers and small clothes until she was completely naked before him. Holy and perfect.

Keeping his teasing tempo on her pearl and caressing softly her entrance to her core. The silky ring hot and slick for him.

Kissing her neck and slowly guiding down to her pert breasts – tasting the salt from her skin. Pulling, sucking a hard nipple into his mouth. Moaning at her taste.

Her continued moans from his ministrations spurred him to increase his tempo – caressing her pearl with his fingers faster. Moans becoming hitched and her hips bucking harder. Her nails digging into his shoulder – sending mixes of pain and pleasure. Looking down at her she had the most pleasured face. Flushed, beads of sweat glistening her brow, red eyes dark with pleasure. Looking at him with love and desire. That he was doing this to her. Moaning at her expression.

Her eyes rolled as she arched one last time. He could feel her nether lips and pearl throb hard from her orgasm.

Cullen body trembled hard as his breathing reached a fever pitch as he cried out. His member throbbed violently as he came. His seed splattering his stomach and part of his chest.

Calming himself from the force of his orgasm. Feeling slightly disguised with himself. He didn't even realize, in the heat of the moment, that he had a mind-fantasy. About her.

_What a pathetic man I am._

Reaching over to his night stand, taking a small hand-towel to rub away the evidence of his self-pleasure. Tossing it uncaringly to his right. Pulling the covers closer to himself to hide. Praying that his inappropriate thoughts would leave him.

* * *

><p>Cold hands wiped angrily away cool wetness on her cheeks. Having enough of the isolating bitterness. Hating herself privately. It would have been a matter of time before her parents contacted her. In her mind they were far away like she was physically far away. That letter brought all of it back to her. She didn't hate them as much as she hated herself. Very much terrified of the consequences of them being here. Experience told her that thinking of seeing them and them actually physically being here were two different concepts.<p>

A harsh wind blew the thoughts away. Her moon hair whipping like a banner.

_I'll think on this tomorrow. _Then another pressing thought came too_, They must be worried about me._

Her advisers were important to her niche in the world. They cared about her. Honestly thinking that they can't fulfill their duties if they worried over their leader's well being. But, they came to her as her friends. She wasn't _that_ socially inadequate to know what a friend was. There was one among them that she really valued. That was Cullen.

That man was a big worrier.

Wanting to put his fears and worries to bed first. The one good thing of being so high up is having the eagle-eye view of the Skyhold complex. The moon was high up and gave the stones a nice dark-blue grey shine. A light fog was beginning to set in place. A few lights from torches dotted the battlements and even the Tavern was growing dark this late. Eying the battlement where the Commander's quarters was. It too, was dark. She skillfully climbed her way down the main tower of Skyhold. Using a very dim werelight and the glow of the moon to aid in her decent. Having practiced getting used to the stones and their temperament with her hands and feet. Those too, were her friends.

Only the night crew were out this late. They were easy enough for her skill to dodge. Not wanting to be bothered on her way to see the Commander. Silent as a shadow.

She was face to face with his office door. No, he wouldn't be in his office this late. Well, sometimes. Thinking he was in his room in the loft, she forgoed the door and climbed up to the hole in the roof. Honestly not believing that a semi-perfectionist like him would allow a hole in the roof, but even they have their quirks. However, she rather liked it, it provided an easy access for her roguish skill to his room.

Holstering herself one last time over the crumbled stone – her feet dangling into the dark of his room. Silently having lowered her werelight into the dark space. She hadn't seen his loft turned room and was a little curious of what it looked liked and how far it was from her perch on the crumbled roof. Pleased that it wasn't far up; she turned and held on the stones before letting go, using her left foot to push her away from the wall and her right to land on. Bending legs and body to quietly absorb the shock of her landing on the wood beams. Just a muffled squeak from the wood floor from her weight.

Taking a moment to look around the dim room. Before sending her werelight to explore the room, she noticed a hand towel on the floor near her. The Commander was too much of a perfectionist to let something as small as a hand towel be on the floor. On closer inspection from her werelight, she noted a wet sheen. Nearly chuckling when she realized what it was.

Feeling her body heat up at the thought of 'catching' Cullen pleasuring himself. Releasing his seed on himself from his orgasm. Streaking and sticking to his flesh thickly.

Shivering at the thought.

Calming herself, Katja sent her werelight in a slow circle around the room. Appreciating the Commander's functional attitude. A wardrobe, bookshelf, nightstand and bed. In said bed was the Commander himself. Sprawled on his back snoring softly, covers hiding him from his waist down. From her dim werelight, he was not wearing a shirt. Pale skin sparkling softly.

Approaching quietly to the bed. Looking appreciably at the Commander's masculine body. Nearly yelping in excitement.

_He does have curly hair!_

From his sleep, his hair had become relaxed, resorting to their natural curled appearance. He looked even more handsome to her. It made him look more wild and fierce. He didn't look silly at all, as she suspected that would be the reason he kept it down.

Her musings were cut short as he began to tremble. Calm face contorting to one of pain and anger.

"Leave me!" He hoarsely growled out.

Another nightmare for him.

Blossoming empathy welled in her breast. She didn't him like this – pain filled dreams. Deciding that using a spell was a bad idea – from previous experience. One more idea was an option, she could enter his dream; dissipate it like she did when he fell into the Fade-dream. The Commander deserved a peaceful rest, without past hurt biting his heels.

Pulling her flat shoes off before entering the restless Commander's bed. The covers pleasantly warm from his body heat. Laying opposite of him, careful not to wake him – lest they have a repeat from their sleep over back at Haven.

Calming herself despite his jerky fits, going into her meditative state. Willing herself to sleep. Pulling on their familiar connection. Touching the tendrils that belonged to the Commander. Walking herself through his sharp pains and emotions from his dream. Seeing herself there. With him. Within his mind, his dream. Her mind-tendrils forming space. Opening her mind's eye; seeing the dream.

_What the fuck…_

The sky was an angry red, thundering menacingly. Red lyrium seething, cracking, beating abusively from the ground.

Feeling the Commander's dream-pull, she rushed to him.

He was fighting monstrous contortions of red templars while he himself as turning into one. Striking the last one, red crystal blood spraying. The Commander himself screamed in agony.

"Cullen!"

Shocked filled eyes glowed at her. Backing away from her.

"No! Don't!"

Stopping a few feet from the frightened Commander. Ignoring the bodies, well, false bodies of the dead red templars.

Raising her left hand in peace, "It's alright Cullen."

"No, don't come near me! I'll hurt you." Panic in his voice, pure fear.

Shaking her head at him, "No, you won't. But I need you to listen to me."

"I will! Just like they will hurt you. Take you away from me."

Getting annoyed at his thick-headedness, she opted for her best authoritative tone and said, "As your Inquisitor I command you to listen Commander. That's an order."

She saw him visibly flinch before rapping at attention.

"Now that I have your attention Cullen. I, firstly, need you to calm down, and please, don't make me have that as an order too. Secondly, you need to know that this is a dream. Well, technically a nightmare, but a dream none-the-less."

"I – how –"

Waving her hand in dismissal, "Before I explain further… I think a change in scenery is called for."

Walking up to the shaken Commander fearlessly, taking his hand in her's. Languidly closing and opening her eyes, breathing slowly. Pushing herself out into the dream-space. In a wave of energy, blasting the nightmare scene away, dissolving it. The Commander cried out in shock at the influx, but remained still.

Replacing the nightmare, with a calm serene landscape plucked from her picture memory.

Tall, mighty trees; crisp, green grass; lazy, wide flowing river; a bright sky and sun; the soft chirping of birds and buzzing of cicadas; and behind her was the cave that overlooked the river, the forest, and clay-red foothills.

Sighing happily, "That's better. Don't you think so Cullen?" Letting go of his shaking hand to regard him. In her attempt to change the scenery, she turned the dream representation of Cullen back into his usual self. Still sporting his surprise look.

"You… you said this was a dream." Whispering softly to her.

"Technically this place is real, outside the dream I mean. Beats whatever you were dreaming of."

"Ah, yes. I suppose your right." His face turning to something from the 'sad' category, "Are you really here with me?"

"Pretty much. I was coming to see you after I… worked through _that_." Referencing the letter from that morning, "I know how much of a worrier you can be especially. I noticed you were having a bad dream, so I… wanted to give you a good one for a change."

His face went into the 'fear' category, "Your… physically in my room."

Shrugging her shoulders, "Specifically your bed. Why? Is something wrong?"

Seeing his throat tighten from swallowing hard, a flush creeping on his bare chest and cheeks. "N-no. Nothing's wrong. Just… why couldn't you have waited until morning to see me? And why, pray tell, prompted you to be in my bed?"

Arching her brows at the strange Commander, "Ah, it was technically after midnight, therefore morning, and I know that you don't sleep much anyway. When I saw you were having a bad dream, I couldn't fall asleep on the floor."

"Oh. Ah…" Stopping himself and clearing his throat. "I suppose not."

"You're a rather strange man. But that's alright, wouldn't be you otherwise."

Cullen was about to say something when she turned and walked with familiarity to a rock formation near the mouth of the cave and pulled herself up to sit. Petting the area next to her for him. Hoping that he would. Happy that, in a way, they were having some alone time. Even if it was within a dreamscape. Katja saw his throat tighten a little before slowly approaching her only to stop in horrid realization.

"Maker's Breath I'm so sorry!" Placing his hands over his groin.

Katja looked at him funny, "What? Is something wrong?"

"Why am I naked?!" His red flush ghosting his entire body.

He really was weird, but adorable to her. "Your naked physically aren't you? We'll that's why." Shrugging at the explanation. Not getting why he was suddenly so stand-of-ish.

"Maker's Breath!" Swearing under his teeth.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of Cullen. But…" Using her dream-pull on her. Hoping that he would be less skittish. "That's better. Now we are the same. Come sit next to me and enjoy the scenery."

Only, he wasn't coming to her. She cocked her brows at his reaction to her nudity. His bronze eyes were wide and his mouth agape. Katja chuckled – he looked like a fish; a handsome fish. Jerking his eyes away from her.

Getting annoyed at him, "Commander come sit next to me and stop being weird."

Slowly looking back at her, his bronze eyes trying not to look lower. The flush pinkness still present on his cheeks and shoulders. Taking hesitant steps to her. Noticing a hard swallow in his throat. Finally taking the spot next to her. She could feel the nervous tension.

"Are you alright Cullen?" Worry ebbing within herself. It was just moments ago that he was having a nightmare before she came into the scene.

Clearing his throat, he responded, "I should be asking that of you. You weren't in a good state the last we saw each other." Not meeting her gaze; bronze eyes distant.

Arching her brow at him, "Don't deflect. I can feel your trembles. If you need some time –"

"No! It's just…" he sighed, "normal at this point. The bad dreams. I didn't expect this to happen."

"It's because of the lack of lyrium." She said observantly. "It'll end Cullen." Poking his arm with her elbow playfully, "Bad things end sooner or later."

For a long while, they stayed silent. Katja was enjoying sharing the space with him. The familiar, home environment with someone she cared for deeply. Noticing that the Commander slowly becoming relaxed. Looking out at the peaceful landscape painted from her clear memory.

"You said that this place is real outside the dream." He asked quietly, calmly.

She nodded, "Yeah. We are near one of the rivers that flow from the Frostbacks. We are within the red foothills. I have other such hide-away places but this is my favorite. No one lives here for miles around."

"It's really nice." Noticing that he took his left hand to rub his neck before returning it to his position in his lap. Covering his groin.

"Every day, Cullen."

"Your… happy here?"

"Before pre-death-in-the-sky, yes. The best time to come is in the summer. The river is really refreshing during a midnight-swim. And autumn during sunrise and there is fog rolling around."

Cullen was quiet before speaking again, "I grew up near a lake near such a river, in a small fishing village called Honnleath."

"You did?" Surprise at the coincidence, "I know where Honnleath is. Though I haven't had the pleasure of setting foot in the village since I was eleven. We're, oh, roughly twenty-five miles north-west."

"You've visited Honnleath before?"

"Well… I knew of its existence at eleven, but I was skittish of entering villages or any settlements until I was older. It wasn't the village I was afraid of, it was the frequent influx of templars. I was an apostate. A run-away. I was sixteen when I gathered the courage to do that, before the Blight."

Cullen began chuckling. Katja raised her brows at him.

"I find it rather strange that we never ran into each other despite being close. Did you talk to anyone in the village?"

"I did as a matter of fact. The man was such a prude though. I went to the wharf to see the fishing boats when this older man came up to me wanting to know if I was looking for work as an apprentice. He said his son was a templar and he was looking for a shipmate. I told him I was passing through."

"Really? What did he look like?"

Curious as to why he was asking about a random fisherman from her trip, she recanted his description, "He was medium height, well-built, sported a grey goatee, with curly, sandy blonde hair that tied in a red knot, and a scar that ran on his right eye. That eye was blue from blindness. Why?"

Cullen's mouth gaped, "That was my father!"

Blinking rapidly, picturing the fisherman next to Cullen, comparing. Laughing at the coincidence. "You certainly take after him then."

He grinned, shaking his head at the possibility, "A strange fate. To be close physically back then, but we never saw each other." Shaking his head at a different thought, a little bit of sadness, "Though, even if we did, I probably don't remember. I don't have many memories from that time – the lyrium."

Katja cocked her head, "Well, you left for templar training at thirteen and I was eight – still in the Ostwick Circle."

"Yes, that is true. But there were times where we were allowed to visit family until eighteen when we took our vigil. I'm just surprised we hadn't meet, even if it would be briefly."

A nagging feeling welled within Katja's stomach. A bottomless sense of dread over what could have been. Over what she could have done if they ever would have meet when she was that young and angry. The thought sickened her.

Clasping his slack palm with her's, not meeting his eyes, "Thank the Maker Cullen, that we didn't. You… would not have liked me then." Shame bubbling within her conscience.

"I find that hard to believe. It would have been hard to not notice you." His flush had returned to his cheeks and shoulders.

I was meant to sound comforting, but it only made her flinch. Remembering what she was. What she can no longer be. Folding her arms around herself, looking away.

"No Cullen, believe me, I would have absolutely hated you. I would not see you as you are."

* * *

><p><strong>[A.N.]<strong> Woot! Thank you atomratte, Elmo34, and Knifeinthedarkness for the fav/follows! Thank you Rae for reviewing again, and yes, they would have adorable dates. Also saqqara08; wait no longer for her reaction!

Ugh. This chapter was a pain to write. But, like I said; I will write with kicking, screaming and artistic discipline. I have so many artistic ideas bouncing in my head it's hard to concentrate. I go back and forth drawing and writing.

As a side note: Cullen is a closet pervert. :)

If anyone else has guessed, some social etiquette that would be considered embarrassing, Katja is immune to. She is all 'What?' Simply because she didn't get hounded with social mores for the majority of her life. Which includes the importance of wearing clothes. She wears them because of either a) she's cold; b) protection from attack; or, c) Josephine's ire of not wearing a style to impress incoming dignitaries.


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